Page 48 of Tears of the Wolf
The floor was made of slats of wood, not earth like the main longhouse. That would help keep it warm, she hoped.
How long had Cenric been lord of Ombra? She didn’t remember. But he had to have been lord for years.
Looking at the bed, it now seemed too large and too cold for just one person. Married or no, aldermen did not sleep alone for years at a time. Paega was the exception.
Brynn herself had not slept alone in a long time. Esa had slept in her room, as had Osbeorn.
Some nights, Brynn would lie awake watching him sleep, listening to the soft rise and fall of his tiny chest. He had been so small, so delicate. So precious. Her entire heart. So many of her hopes and dreams were wrapped up in that little boy.
The silence of this bedchamber was deafening. The loneliness was an achingly frigid thing that latched icy claws around her heart. A lump formed in Brynn’s throat, and she fought to swallow it.
Alone. She was alone.
It was just for the night, perhaps, but it felt deeper than that. Her father was gone, her sister was gone, Aunt Ulstrid was gone, and so was Osbeorn.
Children who died young went to the home of their patron gods—or so it was said. Osbeorn would grow up in the home of Eponine, the goddess who was ancestress to all Istovari. She would raise him as her son, free of pain, hardship, and fear. Osbeorn would be happy, never knowing the struggles of a mortal life and Brynn tried to take comfort in that. She tried very hard, repeating to herself with every beat of her heart.
Somehow, it was not comforting at all.
Brynn removed her overdress and the wraps around her ankles and calves. Her legs were instantly cold, but it was the only way to avoid waking up with the wraps tangled around her legs.
This might be a lonely bed in a lonely room, but it would still be warmer and more comfortable than the past two nights. Brynn adjusted her pillows and smoothed her blankets.
As she shuffled to the edge of the bed, something hit her foot. Most of the floor had been swept clean, spotless, but something poked out from under the bed. It was all but hidden, easily missed.
Brynn drew aside the blankets. A comb lay mostly wedged under the bed. She pried it free, inspecting closer.
It was carved of bone and decorated with careful etchings. It had been darkened with age, probably a family heirloom. A woman’s comb.
Another woman had lived here, very recently. Maybe up until a week ago when Cenric had received the orders that he was to marry her.
Brynn had already suspected, if not known. So why did it hurt so much?
Brynn set the comb on top of one of her own trunks. She didn’t want to weep again. She’d already wept so much.
What had she expected? Any lord who could afford them kept concubines as well as wives. This was a political arrangement between her and Cenric, just as it had been between her and Paega. Cenric was to provide a safe home for her, and she was to run his household and serve as his shire’s sorceress. They were to help each other continue their respective bloodlines and that was it.
Cenric had fulfilled every expectation so far. There was no reason for her to be upset. None at all.
Brynn woke before the rest of the household, while it was still dark. She layered on her linen chemise, wool overdress, and belts. They were clothes for work, not for travel. She strapped a pouch onto her belt with her eating knife, thread, needle, and a few basic tools. Lastly, she bound her hair back under a large kerchief.
Brynn stepped out into the longhouse. A few of the animals stirred, but she didn’t see movement yet. She went outside to relieve herself. Several dogs followed. The older male, the one Cenric had called Thorn, watched Brynn the whole time, his remaining eye trained on the sorceress.
The air was crisp, fresh. Frozen dew crackled beneath Brynn’s feet and a few dyrehunds rushed around her, tails wagging.
The small pack only stopped when they saw her heading into the longhouse. It seemed they had more interesting places to be.
In the central longhouse, Brynn found Esa still asleep, but one of the girls was already awake, kneeling before the fire pit at the center of the longhouse. She was a slight thing with dark hair that hung around her face in whisps.
“What’s your name?” Brynn asked.
At Brynn’s words, the girl jumped. She kept her head down, almost shaking. “Seva, lady.”
From what Brynn had seen, Seva appeared to be the youngest of the longhouse girls. She might be ten or eleven.
“Seva, I’m Brynn.” The sorceress motioned to the fire pit. “Show me what you were doing.”
Seva complied, showing Brynn how they stoked the fires and placed the dough for the morning’s bread into the coals with paddles.
