Page 89 of Drawn in Blood
A wooden door appeared at the end of the hall, and she quickly slipped out of it and into one of the main halls in the chateau. She was still on the first floor, and now she could hear voices ricocheting off the high ceilings, hushed voices coming from a room at the end of the hall. The stairs were in the opposite direction, but curiosity got the better of her. Though she knew she should’ve gone up to bed and ignored whatever middle of the night meeting was happening, she brushed away her intuition and crept toward the voices as quietly as possible.
She pressed her ear up against the closed door, that she now realized led into one of the smaller sitting rooms and held her breath as she listened.
“She must go, Aoife,” Helvig’s gruff voice said from the other side of the door. “It is her birthright—she must.”
“I know,” Aoife replied, “but she won’t go willingly, you will have to?—"
A board creaked under Ember’s foot, giving away her presence in the hall, and the voices stopped abruptly. Ember sucked in a breath as she backed away, but before she could turn to run back to her room, the door swung open, revealing her mother and Helvig sitting in front of the fire.
“Good evening, Ember,” Helvig said, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Good evening,” she whispered with a nod. Should she bow? Or curtsey? How does one greet their long-lost grandfather, who was the king of a hidden city on a magical island?
She certainly wasn’t going to hug him.
“Having trouble sleeping, love?” her mother cooed, as she patted the couch beside her. “Come have some tea.”
Ember nodded as she walked into the room, sitting as far away from the burly, bearded Viking as she could possibly get. She sipped her tea, the silence threatening to swallow her whole if it wasn’t for the fire crackling in front of her. Helvig seemed to study her, his piercing blue eyes boring holes into the side of her head. She tried not to squirm. What was he looking for? His brow furrowed, and she shrunk under the weight of his gaze—it was intense, like fire waiting to consume her.
“How are you liking Torsvik?” he finally said, taking a sip of what she was certain was whiskey in his glass.
“It’s beautiful,” Ember replied, forcing a smile.
It wasn’t a lie. The town was stunning, all the aged buildings that reminded her of the books she had read about ancient Vikings. The mountains that sat behind it, stretching from one side of the harbor to the other took her breath away, the way it lit up red and orange every evening like the gods had set it on fire themselves.
“How would you like to come see the castle?” he asked next, a question Ember wasn’t prepared for in the slightest.
Her brow rose and her mug almost slipped from her hands. “There’s a castle?” she asked, tilting her head.
“Well, of course,” he chuckled, crossing one leg over his knee. “Where do you think the Jarl lives?”
Aoife let out a breathy laugh.
Ember bit her lip, suddenly feeling very small and out of place, like a pauper being handed a dress made of silk, encrusted with diamonds—she had no idea what to do with it.
“So?” Aoife asked, nodding her head toward Helvig. “Would you like to visit?”
“Sure,” Ember nodded, though she felt very far from it, “I’d love a tour of the castle.”
“Wonderful!” Helvig said, as he slapped a hand on his knee, making the tea in Ember’s mug slosh around as she jumped. “I’m sure you’re busy with your tutors this week, so how does Saturday sound?”
“It sounds lovely,” she replied quietly. “Saturday sounds lovely.” She hated the way her voice sounded now—so small and indecisive, like she had no backbone at all. Where was the girl that took on a Cu Sidhe? Or fought for the life of an enslaved Merrow? Where was the bravery that she had almost died for?
“Perfect,” Helvig grinned, pearly white teeth reflecting the fire that flickered in front of him. “I’ll send for you after breakfast then.”
Ember nodded. “I’ll see you then,” she whispered, standing up from the couch and setting down her mug. “Thank you for the tea, Mum. I’m going to try to get some sleep.” Ember leaned down and kissed her mother on the cheek, then quickly made her way out of the room, trying to keep herself from bolting to the safety of her bedroom.
She climbed into the safety of her bed, huddling close to Theo, and closed her eyes tight. She didn’t want to see a castle or explore the town or watch the sun set over the mountains.She wanted to be laughing in the orchard with Fen and Killian or listening to one of Maeve’s funny stories. She wanted to curl up in front of the fire and read her book while Fen and Killian argued over a game of chess, Otto laughing in his chair as he read the paper. She held Theo’s hand as he slept soundly beside her, squeezing it to steady herself. She didn’t want to go to a castle.
She wanted to go home.
Saturday came fasterthan Ember would’ve liked, which almost seemed impossible considering how bored she was. After a week of repetitive lessons with a monotonous tutor, she found herself eager to get out of the house, even if it was for a day out with Helvig.
Granda’.
The word tasted bitter in her mouth. She shook the thought away as she stared at herself in the mirror. Small braids were scattered through her hair with tiny, silver beads placed throughout, runes carved into them. The dress Gaelen had picked up for her hung around her ankles, forest green speckled with ivory flowers and gold trim around the hem and cuffs of her sleeves. She pulled on her fur lined boots and then donned the woolen caftan that matched her dress. The coat was warm, and she found herself beginning to sweat within minutes. She made her way down the stairs, intent on waiting outside in the cold for whoever Helvig sent for her, when a knock on the door sounded.
Ember groaned when Collum walked inside, gritting her teeth as she gripped the handrail. She stomped—actually stomped—to the door, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
