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

  Dion helps me into the saddle and adjusts the stirrups. “May I –” I stop myself from asking for permission. I doubt an a’deve – a ruler’s wife – would do such a thing. Eyeing Noé where he’s preparing his own mount across the paddock, I amend to ask, “Is it safe to ride ahead? To get a feel for her?”

  Dion gives me a jovial laugh. “Just stay on the road heading north. They’ll catch up.”

  Before anyone can stop me, I urge the dark beauty into a trot, then a canter, and on into a gallop. My spirit soars right along with her hooves. Her gait is so smooth she seems to barely touch the ground. With the wind in my hair and my sore muscles protesting, I name her Glory, for that’s what she is, pure and simple. And the knowledge that my betrothed isn’t above acts of kindness? It leaves me breathless. Because who needs air in their lungs when their chest is bursting with optimism.

  When I allow them to catch up, Noé isn’t thrilled with my initiative, but he doesn’t chastise me, and Bron offers me an encouraging smile. In fact, on this side of the river, they’re all more relaxed. Over the next few days, as we journey steadily north, I begin to let down my guard, turning most of my attention to caring for my new mount. I can’t remember the last time I had something other than myself to worry about. It’s heady and sweet.

  Until it isn’t.

  Three days after leaving the river, with the dawn barely breaking over the horizon, on my way back from relieving myself in the trees, one of the twins catches me unawares.

  “Finally,” he jeers. “Alone at last.”

  Despite his intentions being as plain as day, I can’t quite comprehend. “What are you doing?” My voice turns shrill on the last word as he takes a threatening step toward me.

  “I think that’s obvious.”

  I back away, my heart beginning to pound in my chest. “But I’m to be your a’deve.”

  He laughs coldly. “Doubtful.”

  “I’ll scream.”

  “Excellent. I love a good struggle.”

  Terror swamps me as he lunges. I barely get a half-cry for help out before his hand clamps over my mouth. I fight and claw and thrash with everything in me. But the horrible realization that this is going to happen no matter what I do hits me when we topple over and his weight squashes me into the dirt. Despair fills me. This can’t happen. It can’t ha–

  An opening comes.

  He lets go of my wrists to start scrabbling at my skirts, and I frantically shove at his shoulders. Except it barely registers with him and now his hand is fumbling under my dress.

  No. No. No.

  I begin groping at the ground around me for something, anything to use as a weapon. There! I swing instinctively, without any conscious thought at all, and the dull thud of the rock against his skull reverberates up my arm.

  He slumps down on me.

  Reeling with shock, I barely hear the bellowing that ensues. It’s all a steady, pitchy buzz until the body on top of me abruptly disappears. “What have you done?!”

  I can only lie there, trembling.

  “You thrice damned whore!”

  It’s the other twin and he’s enraged. I need to move, but my quaking limbs are far from cooperative. My leather slippers and the heels of my palms slip in the fallen pine needles as I desperately try to retreat from him.

  With a roar, he kicks out at me. In his frenzy, he misses, but I’m not so lucky on the second attempt. Or the third. Then he falls on me and the punches come.

  Curling into a ball, I try to protect myself, but the blows are like hammers, driving the breath from my lungs and the sense from my mind. My vision goes dark for a second. When it flickers back, I realize everything has stopped and that Noé is yelling . . . at me. “What were you thinking?! You stupid woman. Father’s tit, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  My short, panted breaths aren’t enough to allow for words and I’m not sure I could come up with anything coherent even if they did.

  “She led him out here,” a twin accuses at the top of his lungs. “Said they could have some fun. And look what she did! She killed him.”

  “Wha –” Fun? Killed?

  “You will speak!” Noé roars.

  “I did no such thing,” I wheeze.

  “She calls me a liar after slaying my brother?!” the twin rages to Noé and then at me, he spits, “I am a warrior of the Mountain Lion Range.”

  Mountain lion. That makes sense. The cat insignia on their shoulders has a long body. It must be a mountain lion.

  Vaguely it occurs to me how useless these thoughts are. I should be listening to Noé. He’s saying more, things I’m not processing. Abruptly he leans down and grabs my wrist, dragging me along the ground back to camp. If I could scream, I would. The pain radiating along my already-bruised ribs almost pales in comparison to the feeling of my shoulder about to wrench free of its socket.

  “Noé, what are you doing?” comes the urgent voice of another. Bron. He meets us at the wagon where Noé dumps me in a heap.

  “You don’t move,” Noé growls at me. “Do you hear me?”

  He leaves me there with Bron. “What happened?” he whispers urgently, helping me to sit up with my back against a wheel.

  I bring a very unsteady hand to my head and it comes away bloody. “Hhhe . . . he attacked me.” My survival instincts really kick in and I start searching for my horse. Would they pursue me? Hunt me down? My brain lurches and sways in its attempts to form a plan, any plan, to get away from here.

  “Noé? Noé attacked you?”

  “No . . .” I can barely concentrate on Bron’s words. “Will hhhhe let me go?”

  “What?”

  “Will Noé let me go?”

  “No, he won’t let you go,” Bron says like I’m daft. “He must deliver you to the deve without fail.”

  We hear cursing, and Bron looks over his shoulder. The sight of Noé and a twin carrying a body between them has Bron’s very wide, brown eyes swinging back in my direction. “Is he dead?”

  “I think so,” I whisper, tears now blurring my vision. I must get away from here. But where will I go? “Will Noé kill me?”

  “What? No! I told you, he has to deliver you.”

  Dix appears. “What in all the horrors of the Abyss happened?” he demands, watching them slide the body onto the cart bed.

  “The D’heilarian whore,” a twin scorns, “lured Carson into the trees, and when she didn’t like the results, she killed him.”

  “That’s not true,” I cry, struggling to my feet with Bron’s help. “He attacked me.”

  “You’re disgusting!” It must be Cayson if Carson is dead. “You’ve been making eyes at us since we left D’heilar.”

  I don’t know if the dizziness is sparked by his despicable statement or the pain in my ribs, which is quickly growing intolerable. “That . . . is . . . not . . .” I weave, and though Bron catches me, everything goes dark.

  ♦♦♦

  I wake up chained in the cart, an ankle restrained at one end and a wrist at the other, laid out next to the body of my attacker. Noé will not hear my pleas. All he says is that the deve will settle things once we arrive. Beyond that, he won’t acknowledge me except to threaten to stuff a rag in my mouth if I don’t shut up.

  That was yesterday. Already bruised and battered from the assault, I’m a wreck now. After spending the entire day on the move, with my wounded mind, body, and soul being rattled into oblivion on the planks of this forsaken cart, they left me where I was overnight. Without a campfire, the bitter cold worked its way deep into my bones and has not left since.

  Now, today, what little warmth the Mother has granted me will soon be lost as the sun begins its descent toward the horizon. I don’t know if I can face another night of shivering in this cart, shackled like an animal. The only thing holding me together is the fury that underpins my
physical suffering. Because how dare they do this to me? How fucking dare they?

  The cart jolts heavily and my anger falters with the cry that leaks from between my compressed lips. My ribs ache and the roughly hewn manacles have scraped my skin raw. I’m almost grateful that I’m half-numbed to the pain by the cold.

  Bron comes into view. From horseback, he offers me a skin of water.

  “Bron!”

  Noé’s angry voice snaps through the frigid air like a whip.

  “If she dies,” the younger man says evenly, “the deve will not be pleased.” There’s no response, but the offer of water is rescinded and he disappears from sight.

  Despondency presses deeper. My thoughts are sluggish as I try to remember the last time I was given water. Was it this morning? I don’t think the lack of water will kill me, though, before the cold. My free hand clumsily feels along the waist of my dress to where my mother’s ring is sewn into the gathered material, the last piece of my family left to me.

  “I’m sorry, Mama,” I whisper to the darkening sky. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be, is it?” In the days before her trial and execution, Mama had been adamant that if I was ever given the chance, I should seek out happiness and live. But she’s been gone for eight years now, and my father and my brothers for fifteen. At this point, I’m just so tired.

  Later, something tugs at my consciousness, and I realize the sway of the cart has stopped. Loud, angry voices begin to funnel into my brain. The specifics are lost to the numbing effects of cold, thirst, and hunger, but a whooshing sound brings with it the light of a torch. I clamp my eyes shut against the sudden brightness, then hear the high-pitched wailing of a woman crying for her dead son. Carson was luckier than he deserved if he has . . . had a mother to grieve for him.

  The clanking of my irons rouses me further and I find a man with the fiercest of scowls looking down at me over the edge of the wagon. With hatred burning in his eyes, he declares, “Lock her up.”

  Chapter 2

  Luka

  They should have been back yesterday. And their continued failure to turn up at the gates of the stronghold has me pacing my chamber like a caged animal. This marriage contract has proven itself to be an irritation many times over, and the damnable woman hasn’t even arrived yet.

  A gust of air through the window draws my attention to the darkening sky. I doubt they’ll travel at night, not with the pampered princess in tow, which means another sleepless night of wondering what’s gone wrong. I make to pull the shutter closed when, from across the courtyard, I hear a duty guard’s cry of, “Riders approaching!”

  “Finally,” I mutter darkly.

  By the time I make it downstairs to the Great Hall, it’s obvious that word has spread. Warriors and villagers alike are abandoning their evening meals to file out into the courtyard to greet the returning party and, most probably, to catch a glimpse of their new a’deve.

  It’s absurd to think that I know nothing but the name of the woman I’m supposed to marry. When I first heard that there would be a marriage treaty between the Realms and D’heilar, it didn’t occur to me that the First Deve would saddle me with her. Though as the youngest and newest ruler in the realms, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Now, after having the summer and most of the fall to adjust to the idea, I can’t say I’m any less revolted by it than I was in the spring during the Realm Council meeting when it was announced. But according to my lord and commander, I’ll be tying myself to this woman whether I like it or not.

  An odd mixture of dread and anticipation claws away at my insides as I cross the cobbled courtyard. Over the heads in the crowd, I scan the scene in the light of the torches. Where is the woman? A pulse of disquiet shoots through me when I count only three men on horseback. One of the twins is missing. Where in the name of the Mother is he?

  Worst case scenarios rush at me. They were attacked by eastern savages. Or wild animals. The princess has been taken. Killed. Drowned. Mauled. Thrown from her horse. Maybe she ran off with the twin. Or maybe she refused to come at all. Yes, that must be it. But my relief is snuffed out by the expression on Noé’s face.

  “My deve,” he says gravely. “There’s been . . .” He looks down and away before he hauls in a deep breath and re-meets my eyes. “There’s been an incident. Carson is dead.”

  “What?!” is shrieked by a woman from the back of the crowd. Carson’s mother, Zola, pushes her way forward. “What do you mean he’s dead?”

  My question exactly, right along with, “Where is the woman?”

  “They’re both in the cart,” Noé says. “She, uh, killed him.”

  My thoughts tangle and trip over one another. She what?

  “No!” Zola yells as a torch is brought closer and we peer over the sides of the wagon, joined by half the village.

  “The wanton slut tempted him into the trees,” Cayson announces bitterly for all to hear. “And then she caved his skull in with a rock.”

  It takes a moment, but once his declaration sinks in, a full-body rush of hatred consumes me. Deep down, I always knew the woman would be unfit for marriage.

  Over Zola’s shrill wails, the villagers start shouting for the woman’s blood, calling her a witch, a harlot, a murderess. I can’t say is disagree with them as I watch Noé unhook her shackles from the cart bed.

  “Lock her up,” I order, watching Cayson yank her prone body from the cart.

  The worthless realization that I should have gone south to collect her myself assaults me. Or I should have at least sent Eldon. I lift my gaze to Noé for an explanation. To the man’s credit, he doesn’t flinch, but he does look ill at ease. “Things didn’t go to plan,” he admits from the other side of the wagon.

  “To plan?” I grit out. “A Range Warrior is dead at the hands of my intended bride under the watch of my Warrior Commander. Things are far beyond the plan, Noé.”

  He grimaces, those stupid molars he takes from his kills and threads into his hair glinting in the torch light. “I admit I underestimated her,” he says, coming around the cart.

  I glare at him, rage beginning to bubble just below the surface. I have to check the urge to beat him to a pulp, right here and now. But that’s something my father would have done. And I am not him. To distract myself, I watch the woman being dragged off to the holding cells between two warriors, her head flopping about, the still-attached chains clinking against the stone.

  “My deve!” Zola’s sharp voice pierces my skull. “My son is dead and I will have retribution. Do you hear me? Swift and sure. I want that traitorous bi–”

  “First,” I say loudly, cutting her off. Zola Cyrun has been a thorn in my side since day one of my rule. “We will have Carson lifted to the Eternal as is befitting a Range Warrior.” I look pointedly to her son’s body which is being removed from the wagon.

  “But –”

  “Enough!”

  Mouth twisting with grief, she turns her back on me and follows her son’s corpse as it’s transported to the clearing outside the stronghold’s walls where the pyre will be lit with the morning’s first rays of light. There is nothing more sacred in the Realms than a warrior who has been lost.

  “That woman is a menace,” Noé grumbles, watching them retreat.

  “No, that woman has lost a son. And we have lost a warrior.”

  A noise approximating a growl comes from his throat, but I hold up my hand to stop him. “Hold your tongue for now. Over food, you can explain this to me in a way that makes sense.” Because, so far, I see no sense whatsoever in this situation. After Eldon, there’s no one I trust more than Noé. He may be a bit of an uptight prig, but missteps of this magnitude are unheard of. In fact, buried somewhere under my fury lies an entire slab of disbelief.

  We enter the Great Hall, which is much busier than usual. Though everyone from the village is welcome at the Great Hall, most of my people
are farmers who live and work on the surrounding land. Usually they have little time for a trip to the stronghold if it’s not market day.

  A hush falls over the room, the high stone walls magnifying the silence and our booted footsteps. Obviously, the story has spread like wildfire. I’m sure everyone feels vindicated. I know I do. Taking a wife from among the snakes of D’heilar was an absurd notion from the start.

  I head for our usual table in the far corner of the room, steering clear of the dais, which I sit upon only when I must. I notice with satisfaction that someone has already removed her chair from the head table.

  As soon as we sit down, Lorna is there with two tankards of ale.

  “My deve,” she coos. “So sorry to hear that your intended has lived up to her ancestors’ reputation.” My eyes catch on her full red lips and I almost let thoughts of what she can do with them fill my head. “If you need comfort at all,” she continues, “you know where I’ll be.”

  Without waiting for a response, she leaves and Noé stifles a laugh. “When is she going to give up on you? She should be married by now.”

  I can’t stop a smirk. “If Lorna married, there would be a revolt among the men.”

  Noé gives a knowing nod. “Her cunt is where I’m hoping to land tonight.”

  “You and half this room.”

  “I’m not against sharing,” he retorts as Eldon slaps him on the shoulder.

  “Noé, my friend,” Eldon says, sitting next to him. “Wouldn’t you rather have one, permanent woman to warm your bed? One you don’t have to hunt down and cajole onto your cock every night?”

  Both Noé and I grimace. My second in command and cousin is famously besotted with his wife of the last seven years, Daysa . . . and their three children.

  “Fuck no,” Noé chokes out.