A Kingdom of Exiles Read online

  “You hideous old toad!” Viola shouted, her eyes bulging.

  Elain had played her hand, and by the feline smugness lighting up her face, she knew she’d won. Elain peered down her nose at me. “Tell me, Serena, who do you think the council of elders will side with? A girl too lazy to help out around the house or a grieving widow?”

  “Get out,” Viola snarled at her back.

  “No, it’s okay. I’ll go,” I said, resigned. ‘I’ll only end up causing trouble for you both.’

  John looked crestfallen and Viola’s face went slack. “You haven’t. You won’t.”

  “Don’t worry on our account, girl—we’re tougher than we look,” John said, placing a reassuring arm on his wife’s shoulder.

  Elain snorted.

  “Get out of my house.” John took a step toward her, and for the first time it gave Elain pause. “Fine. I’ll wait outside.” She glared down at me. “Five minutes, or I go to the elders and lodge a complaint.”

  She left in a rush, perhaps more concerned by John’s thunderous expression than she let on.

  As soon as she’d closed the front door, Viola confronted me. “You can’t go with that woman.”

  I sighed and rose from the couch, letting the blankets that had covered me fall. “It’s no good. Those aren’t idle threats, and you two can’t care for me forever.”

  “Nonsense! You can stay here for as long as you like.” Viola puffed up, tears in her eyes.

  “And depend on you for everything? I’m not a child, and I don’t want your lives ruined by this—”

  “That wouldn’t happen—”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I can’t take that risk.”

  Before my courage could fail, I hugged Viola and then it was John’s turn. I whispered into his ear, “If you don’t hear from me in a week, come check on me.”

  I pulled back, and although grim-faced, he nodded. Relief enveloped me—he’d understood that I couldn’t ask Viola. If she knew how worried I was, she’d never let me leave. I said goodbye, squared my shoulders, and walked out.

  I just hoped John wouldn’t need to come to the cabin, and that my fears about what Elain might do now were unfounded.

  “Get up!” Elain shouted while pounding on my bedroom door.

  There was no need. I’d been awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, letting the apathy wash me away into a stupor.

  I’d arrived back home almost a week ago, and the second I’d stepped through the door, Elain had thrust a long list of chores under my nose. There was everything from weeding the vegetable patch to re-painting the house. Since I no longer had to make peace for Father’s sake, I’d resolved to fight back.

  When I’d asked what household duties she’d be performing, she’d shrugged and told me as the elder, she wasn’t expected to work as hard. I quickly earned myself another slap, arguing that she was only twelve years older than me. She must’ve seen my hands curling, itching to return the favor, because she’d grinned like a cat that got the mouse and threatened to go to the elders with tales of lazy stepchildren. Warning me not to play games I didn’t understand, she’d set me to scrubbing floors. With sweat pouring down my face, I tried to think of a way out of my predicament. I considered just leaving, but I couldn’t rely on the elders to side with me. The village council amounted to five men and only one woman. And as someone with gangly limbs, sharp awkward lines, and the grace of a boar, I couldn’t hope to replicate the way Elain’s soft golden hair, ample cleavage, and doe eyes influenced men’s hearts.

  So now, every day began by wondering what fresh hell she’d conjured up for the day.

  Today it was chopping wood until she’d decided we had enough. By noon, my hands had blistered and bled in spots. Losing patience, unable to bear the pain, I walked back into the house, rummaged around for some cheese, and poured myself a glass of water.

  I leaned against the kitchen counter and savored the peace and quiet—Elain had gone into the village for market day.

  Scanning the ground floor of the cabin, grief pressed in on me. Beneath me were dark floorboards that creaked constantly, and opposite was the hearth. A staircase and a rickety dining table took pride of place in the middle of the room. And as you entered from the front, an L-shaped kitchen lay to the right. Nothing fancy—just a few cupboards, a stone sink, and a woodstove tucked up against the wall. The bones of the room were still there. It even smelled of the same pine residue, and yet … everything was different.

  Once upon a time, my mother’s rocking chair had sat beside the couch, while the potted herbs she’d tended dotted every surface. Now, thirteen years later, my father’s winter coat, his boots of reindeer hide, and the warm, acrid smell of his piped tobacco had also gone.

  Breathing became difficult and my knees almost gave way. To distract myself, I went looking for a salve to soothe my hands. I found a tin in a kitchen cupboard and rubbed the salve’s waxy substance into my sore palms before tossing it back in the drawer.

  I stole back upstairs and sat, reaching under the bed sheets for my father’s jumper, the only piece of him I’d been able to salvage. Elain wasn’t just at the market to buy food and find “a few luxuries,” as she called it. She was selling his possessions and hadn’t bothered to tell me. Gus had arrived with the wagon this morning. I saw them piling his belongings into the back, and I’d run downstairs to snag the first thing I could find.

  Now, I put it to my face and breathed in smoke and pine—his scent. The smell of the forge and the forest he loved to roam in. Despite my attempts to forestall it, a small whimper escaped me. It quickly turned into a sob.

  My stepmother’s voice cracked like a whip. “Where are you? Why aren’t you outside chopping wood?”

  I flinched. Rushing to stash the jumper under the mattress, I looked out the window to check on Gus. He was already driving the horse back to the village. A small comfort.

  Wiping my eyes and sucking in a steadying breath, I walked to the door and down the stairs as slowly as I dared. She was waiting for me on the bottom step. “What were you doing up there?” Elain asked, her nostrils flaring as if to sniff out a lie.

  “Tidying my room. I’ve already chopped enough wood to last a month.”

  “Good,” Elain said, baring her teeth. “You can go foraging then; we need more mushrooms for the pie this evening. Be back by five.”

  Not quite ready to submit to this latest demand, I dared a question. “How was Gus able to help you? Shouldn’t he be working at Father’s forge?”

  “It’s his forge now,” she snapped. “His and mine.”

  “Father left it to the three of us,” I replied coldly.

  “Of course,” Elain said, a sickly, sweet smile stretching across her face. She moved into the kitchen and grabbed a wicker basket from a cabinet. “Collect the mushrooms in this, and don’t get lost—we wouldn’t want the fae catching you, now would we?”

  She stretched out her hand, dangling the basket in front of me with a simpering smirk. My palm twitched. I didn’t say a word. I just marched over, snapped that damned basket from her, and practically sprinted out the door.

  Angling left, I strode along the beaten trail into the forest and savored the cool breeze kissing my face, the earthy smells, and the freedom from the cabin’s toxicity. Ancestors help me, I couldn’t bear much more of this—I’d go mad.

  But to be free of Elain I had to marry, and that course of action was fraught with its own particular dangers. I had the house to act as a dowry. One that might tempt the men in the village to overlook certain facts, like my distinctively unfeminine hair, or that I’d received an education—Viola had been my teacher since the age of thirteen. Any boy who feigned an interest in me now would only be interested in one thing. Did I want to marry a fortune hunter? What if I traded in one cruel master for another? I needed someone kind, and strong enough to stand up to Elain, but that person did not exist. There were few young men in the village, and even fewer who weren’t spoken for. That only left the prospect of traveling to another village, but the second I left, Elain would have an excuse to claim the house for herself.

  Frustrated, feeling defeated, I came upon a spot rife with mushrooms and spent the next hour collecting them, contemplating my predicament. With my hands covered in dirt and smelling strongly of fungi, I peered up at the sky and marked the sun’s position through the dappled canopy. My heart sank: it was time to start back home. I retraced my steps, my mind whirling and plotting.

  I arrived at the cottage to find the two chimneys puffing out smoke and the lanterns’ flames glowing through the glass. On a deep, shuddering inhale, I opened the door and walked through. I could only stare at my stepmother. She’d started dinner.

  “You’re cooking?” I said, barely believing my eyes.

  She hadn’t so much as lifted a pan since my father died.

  “Yes, well, you’ve been working so hard, I figured you could use a treat!”

  Elain hummed merrily to herself while rolling out pastry. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled and my body went taut as if preparing for battle. Something was very, very wrong. Entering the lair of the wolf, I closed the door and placed the wicker basket on the dining table.

  I watched her. “You’re in a good mood …”

  “Yes, I am. It can happen, Beanpole,” Elain scoffed.

  I felt like saying “since when,” but instead asked, “D’you need any help?”

  “No—you go upstairs and relax. I’ll call when it’s done.”

  I didn’t move for a whole minute. Shock seemed to have frozen my core.

  Move.

  I climbed the stairs to my bedroom, only to pace up and down the length of the small space while a voice inside screamed to jump out the window and run to the bakery. Elain had never spoken to me with kindness, at least not when my father was absent. This nicer version of my stepmother had me on edge, waiting for the final drum beat to sound, and for the monster to rear her ugly head. Was it all a game? Another mode of torture to add to her collection?

  Still, nothing had happened … yet. If I ran, I’d have no excuse other than my stepmother was being too nice. That didn’t stop my skin from crawling when Elain called me down.

  Breathe, I reminded myself.

  As I stepped off the staircase I spotted dinner on the table in the form of a pie, some bread and butter, and a pitcher of water. Suddenly, the threat she’d made years ago to poison my food came rushing back. Something clicked, and my instincts roared, Don’t eat it! Gods help me, I sat down anyway.

  “I hope you like it.” Elain smiled at me.

  That, there, felt like enough to confirm my suspicions. I could still run, but then what? I stalled for time by cutting the pie on my plate into smaller and smaller pieces. Finally, Elain took a bite from the pile of ham and mushrooms heaped high on her plate. Nothing happened.

  But maybe she’d just poisoned my portion rather than the whole pie. Yes, that made more sense. I hadn’t seen her dish it out, after all.

  “Is there something wrong with my cooking?” Elain asked, waving her fork at my plate.

  “No—the pie’s delicious. Thank you.”

  “Really?” She cocked an eyebrow. “By now, you’ve usually cleaned your plate and are asking for a second helping.”

  I forced a breathy laugh as my cheeks burned. She was right. I had to act and think fast. An idea formed as I surveyed the table.

  Grabbing two linen napkins, I placed them over my lap. As the meal progressed, whenever Elain looked away I slipped more pie onto a napkin. To stop her getting suspicious, I occasionally forced a forkful into my mouth, praying the poison wasn’t strong enough to kill me there and then. And when an opportunity arose, I brought the other napkin to my lips and deposited the food inside it. I didn’t touch the bread or butter.

  Halfway through the pie, I was wondering if I’d missed out on a perfectly good meal for nothing. Then, Elain poured me a glass of water from a jug and my instincts rang out in alarm again. I pretended to take tiny sips and waited for my moment.

  My stepmother carried her plate to the kitchen. In one smooth movement, I tipped the water into the pie dish in the center of the table. I followed that up with the food collected in the napkins. Hands trembling, I tried to disguise the mushy heap by lifting leftover piecrust over the top. I snatched my glass, tipped it toward my mouth and waited. She turned back around, and I lowered the glass as if I’d just downed the liquid.

  “No second helping?” she asked, frowning as she walked over to pick up my plate.

  “My stomach’s acting up.” I rubbed my belly for effect.

  Elain smiled coldly and went to stack my plate in the sink. “Too bad. We need to talk.”

  My stomach lurched.

  She spun back around and moved to the table to hover behind the chair opposite. “About the forge.”

  “The forge?” I echoed, surprised.

  “Yes.” Elain grimaced. Sliding into her chair, she clasped her hands. “Gus has the power to make things very difficult for us. He’s alone now, doing the work of two men, and he never had Halvard’s talent. We need to make him happy … keep him on our side; otherwise, he could let the forge fall into ruin and us along with it. Or even swindle us and keep the profits for himself,” she snarled, wearing an ugly look.

  “If he does either, we can go to the elders—”

  “Don’t be so stupid!” she barked. “He’s a man and the only one in the village trained as a blacksmith. The village needs him far more than it needs either of us.”

  “What do you suggest then?” I tried to steady my hands and ignore the yawning chasm threatening to open beneath my feet.

  “Nothing drastic,” she said too breezily. “I’ve asked him round to talk tonight. I want to persuade him that it’s in his best interests not to cheat us. We must use our feminine charms …”

  My heart was racing now. What in the rutting hell was she on about? She’d spent years telling me I couldn’t charm a carrot, let alone a man. What changed?

  A sickening prospect occurred. But surely, surely, not even she could be that bold. Elain knew I had a little protection in Viola and John, and if they caught wind she’d forced me to whore myself, they’d bring down the wrath of the whole village upon hers and Gus’s heads.

  “Nay, child, there’s no need to look so scared.” Elain smirked, clearly enjoying my fear. “I only want to get on his good side. And it’s time you learned that as women, we have no power other than what men give us. No matter what the will says, we must use whatever advantages we have.”

  Her eyes lingered on my face, tracing my features. Whatever she saw there made her grimace and my chest constrict, as her silent insult found its mark. Glancing away, she leaned back and added, “You must trust me on this—give him company after a hard day’s work, add in a few compliments, and he’ll be eating out of our hands.”

  I nodded once. As my panic cranked up another notch, I decided for a direct approach. She might let her mask slip, giving me time to glimpse her true intentions. “You don’t want me to marry him, do you?”

  Elain let out a harsh croak and faced me. “He wouldn’t marry you, even if that’s what I desired. You might have a proper dowry now, but he’s a blacksmith. He has his pick of girls in the village.”

  Some pathetic, vain part of me burned at that. I chewed on my lip, longing to spit out a curse or throw back an insult. Maybe I would have, if it weren’t for the knock. I jumped a bit, and Elain rose to answer the door, but not before I spotted something in her eyes that made me slip the bread knife up my sleeve. It’d be blunt, but better something than nothing.

  An icy blast blew through our cabin, and my lungs tightened.

  “Get in out of that cold—you look frozen.” Elain brushed the fresh snowfall from Gus’s shoulders as he stepped inside without a word. The door clicked shut; it sounded like a death knell. The cabin returned to its former warmth, but the chill didn’t leave my bones.

  I stilled as his gray eyes found me. My whole body clenched, waiting for something to happen. But he walked to the woodstove and without looking at me said, “You’re looking well, Serena.”

  I mumbled my thanks, but my stepmother’s glare was enough for me to add, “How’s the forge?”

  “Same as always,” he said, a brittle snap entering his voice. He held his hands closer to the stove and rubbed them together. “Elain, how about a glass of something warm?”

  “Of course, sit down,” she said, waving to the table.

  He prowled over, choosing the chair next to mine. I strived to suppress a shudder and failed.

  “Serena!” Elain barked. “Get a glass of wine for our guest.”

  “That’s Father’s—”

  “Don’t make me ask again,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “And while you’re at it, bring the bottle through.”

  I deflated under the weight of her glare and stood to walk over to a door to my left. I went through into the pantry and found the wine rack—one of my father’s few indulgences. The labels of his favorite vintages stared back at me, and I ground my teeth. Bitch. The only reason she hadn’t sold his liquor was that she loved it too much.

  After picking the cheapest wine possible, I seized the opportunity to slip the knife from my sleeve into the pocket of my dress. I stalked back into the living room, fighting the urge to fling the bottle at them. I grabbed a glass from a cupboard and filled it halfway while Elain gossiped about the villagers—one of her pastimes.

  There was no choice; I had to sit down next to Gus again. I set the bottle on the table and pushed the glass toward him. He made an odd grunting noise I supposed meant thank you. I tried to hide my revulsion as he snatched the glass, then the bottle, and gorged on Father’s liquor.

  For five long minutes he let my stepmother have free rein, spinning tales and talking nonsense. Still, I kept my eyes trained on her the whole time. Anything to avoid Gus’s roaming eyes.