Chapter 1
The rich darkness, the kind only found at the bottom of the sea, wrapped around the walls and houses of the fasthold. Svanhild drifted along silently, her red curls twisting in the gentle currents. She should have long since been in bed, but she had been unable to resist the bright crescent sliver of the new moon above the water. Such a night was worth any punishment - but she would rather her uncle didn't catch her sneaking back into her room.
The hall had usually fallen quiet by this time of night, everyone asleep or in their private quarters. If anyone spotted her, she could claim the desire for a midnight snack. But getting into the hall in the first place might prove more difficult. Creeping through her secret gap in the magical nets that surrounded the fasthold had been hard enough. The well-defended walls of her fortress home kept almost everyone out.
She slipped in through the side door of the hall, keeping close to the wall so that the green glow of the witch-lights didn't fall on her. Tantalisingly close, the curtain that led to her sleeping-room hung on the other side of the hall.
“You shouldn't make such a fuss.”
The voice, harsh and cutting, slid telepathically into her brain and she froze. Selkies like her, seal shape-shifters, communicated telepathically underwater. One-on-one communication drained energy quickly, though, so even private conversations were often broadcast. Still, the hushed sound of this thought suggested that Klaus did not want to be heard. Who was her uncle talking to?
Casting a longing glimpse at her sleeping-room curtain, she turned in the opposite direction, hugging the shadows as she moved towards the screen separating Klaus's sitting-room from the main hall. As the Lord of the Icy Shores, he had a little more privacy than all the other selkies who dwelt in his fasthold, with an entire suite of rooms reserved for his private use.
“Someone has to be cautious.”
This was a woman's voice, although it sounded nothing like Margit, Svanhild's aunt. It must be Katrina. Klaus's beautiful young mistress had never liked Svanhild in the slightest. The slight clicking of her knitting needles drifted from behind the screen, the metal hitting together as she knitted the traditional magic nets of the selkie people.
“I kept this a secret for years before I even met you. Don't worry about what doesn't concern you.”
“If she finds out that you murdered her father, I'll suffer for it too. Of course this concerns me.”
“You're not my wife. Don't act like it. My niece doesn't have the brains to work out what happened to her father. And even if she did, who would believe her? She may be an adult under the law, but I'm still her guardian. Don't let a ridiculous thing like her twentieth birthday fluster you so much.”
Svanhild froze in the shadows, her heart pounding so hard it might wake the rest of the hall. Surely he could not mean what she thought? Her uncle Klaus, stern but loving, could not have murdered his own brother - her father.
But already, her shock was hardening into anger. Klaus had as good as admitted it himself. She would learn the truth, and then she would make him pay. After all, she had as good a claim to the Icy Shores as he did. She would have her vengeance, and her inheritance, whatever the cost.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears so loudly that she could barely hear anything else. She wrapped her arms protectively around her chest and then let go with a hiss of fury, carelessly hitting against the wall. The thick rope cuffs around her wrists made a louder noise than she would have expected.
“Who's there?”
Klaus broadcast the thought wide, slamming into the heads of everyone around him. Svanhild heard the selkies across the hall begin to murmur as they came awake, their tie to their lord alerting them even in deep sleep. She shot forwards, sliding back behind her curtain in time - she hoped - to avoid being seen.
Could Klaus really be a murderer? Since her father's death before her tenth birthday, Svanhild had lived under the guardianship of her uncle. He was strict, sometimes a little cruel, and certainly not affectionate, but she had always believed that he loved her. He nodded approvingly when the poets sang tales of her father's deeds, and he helped Svanhild to sacrifice in her parents' memories every year. Could he act like that if he had killed his own brother?
She thought about the warm childhood days when Klaus and Margit had taken her onto the shore, laughing as she tested out her human form for the first time. They were no longer loving towards each other, it was true, but could everything have been a facade?
Klaus had admitted it in his own words. Questioning and worrying would not benefit anyone. She needed vengeance. And she knew who could help her get it.
She left her room as soon as the first light of dawn began to filter down through the water, turning everything an icy shade of pale blue.
Aleksander, head of Klaus's guard, stood exactly where she expected to find him. He hovered in one corner of the training cube, watching as the men worked through their morning exercises. He raised a hand to her in greeting, then turned back to his men, swimming gently around the cube to watch them from all angles.
She waited, hoping that the men were almost finished. It would be better if no one else heard her - at least, not yet. She had known Aleksander her entire life, as he rose through the ranks of first her father's guard, then Klaus's. They had never been close, but she had a strange feeling that Aleksander was one of the few men who truly respected her. The atmosphere of Klaus's court did not encourage men who believed in the worth of women.
“I need to talk to you,” she said, slipping the thought privately into Aleksander's mind as the first group of men left the training cube.
His eyebrows raised slightly, but his handsome face otherwise remained blank.
“I am at your service, my lady,” he replied.
“I need to learn how to fight,” she told him. His surprise was so strong that she felt it physically ripple through the water.
“You know that your uncle disapproves of women engaging in fighting,” he said, his emotions now under tight control.
“You said you were at my service. I want you to teach me how to fight.”
His expression didn't change as he gazed at the next group of men to enter the training cube, but she could imagine the conflict behind his stormy blue eyes. He lifted one hand to his head, shifting gently in the water as he thought. Svanhild tried not to admire him too much. A handsome man,yes, but first and foremost a tool to get what she wanted. Vengeance.
“You were my father's man, were you not?”
“I was. I owe my career to him.”
“Then do this in his memory.”
He sighed, so faintly that she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn’t been listening for it.
“As you command, my lady."
“We begin tomorrow,” Svanhild told him.
“Why not now?” Aleksander asked. His voice held a mocking challenge that she couldn't resist.
“Now it is.”
She swam up to the training cube, feeling a little light-headed as Aleksander dismissed the warriors waiting inside. He ordered everyone away from the cube, and held the ropes open for Svanhild to enter.
She drifted inside, her heart beating fast. She had never really expected to see the inside of the cube - only warriors ever entered. Women, even the daughters of warrior lords, certainly did not.
“Which weapon do you wish to learn?”
“Sword.” The answer came quickly and easily. The sword had been her father's weapon.
“I thought that might be your answer,” Aleksander said. Was that a touch of gentle humour in his voice? His face still showed no expression. Perhaps she had imagined it.
He pulled a lightweight training sword out of the floating storage barrel and sent it spinning through the water towards her. She caught it eagerly, waiting for Aleksander to climb into the training cube and face her.
“What under waves is going on here?”
Klaus's voice boomed across the training area, his telepathic force making Svanhild wince. Why could her uncle not have stayed busy with his gold coins and his pretty mistress? Part of her wanted to scream in his face that she knew what he had done, who he really was. But the time had not yet come.
“Apologies, uncle,” she said, keeping her voice light. “I always thought that sword fighting looked like such fun. Aleksander here warned me that it isn't for ladies, but I'm afraid I pushed him into it. Can I not try even a little?”
Klaus chuckled indulgently, but his smile held a dark edge, and his jaw looked tense. She felt a rush of fury at the sight of his bejewelled silver circlet and the silver rings stacked up his arms. That wealth should have been her father's.
“Always looking for some silly new adventure, Svanhild. Go inside now and help your aunt with the rope-making, before you get hurt. Aleksander, I don't expect to see this again.”
Aleksander bowed low in the water - although perhaps not quite as low as he might have - and murmured an apology. Svanhild smiled sweetly at her uncle and skimmed past him, tossing the sword back to Aleksander.
For one brief, beautiful moment, she imagined a true steel sword in her hands, flashing down to slice through Klaus's neck. The adrenalin rush felt real, even if the image was fantasy. She could almost taste the sweetness of revenge.
“We will continue tomorrow. In secret,” she said, sending the thought privately to Aleksander, drawing on their long acquaintance to keep it hidden from everyone else around them. She felt his agreement flow back along the same thought channel.
Let Klaus imagine her a silly little girl as she swam back towards the hall, skirting around the nasty black seaweed that seemed to grow everywhere in the fasthold. He would not realise his misjudgement until it was far too late.
He had reminded her of the precariousness of her situation, however. With her guardian dead, who would protect an orphaned young woman? She could not kill Klaus until she had prepared to protect herself.