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By Root 1331 0

so very normal, all of it. Erik let it flow about him, scarce touching him, but there and comforting nonetheless. He could hear the tenor of the voices, hear the sorrow in the voices, so much sorrow, deep within everyone, so close to the surface, so very close. He sighed. Unlike Merrik, whose pain he understood well, he’d had a month to accustom himself to his father’s and mother’s passing. And, unlike Merrik, he’d had to live with them here at Malverne, never leaving as Merrik did on trading voyages since he, Erik, was the eldest son. Ah, and he’d argued with them even when he’d reached his man years and they’d had no reason not to agree with him, not to let him have his way, and thus his memories were tempered with the bitter quarrels, the shouting, the bone-deep anger he’d sometimes felt toward them. They’d disliked his keeping Caylis and Megot, though they’d treated his son by Caylis, Kenna, well enough. They’d taken Sarla’s side when he’d become angry at her and struck her. Aye, there was much to temper his memory of his mother and father. But not Merrik, not the favored younger son who was never here at Malverne.

Now Malverne was his and his alone. There would be no more arguments with his father on something he wished to do. He was the master now, he was the lord. Only what he said mattered. There were none left to gainsay him. He looked over at his wife, Sarla, knowing in his belly that she was barren, knowing that he would have to rid himself of her if he wished an heir. Or, if he kept her, then one of his other sons could be made legitimate. Probably Kenna, Caylis’s son, a handsome boy of eight who looked just like Erik had at that age. Certainly Sarla would never say anything to him that might displease him enough to dismiss her. She was little more than a shadow, a quiet child whose body he still enjoyed, but not all that much, for she lay there, cold and silent, waiting for him to be done with her. And he had hurt her many times because he’d wanted her to cry out, wanted to hear something from her, whether it be pleasure or pain.

The smell of venison was strong, too strong. He frowned. When his mother prepared the venison stew, the smells were wondrous, the smell of the meat never overpowering the other ingredients. What could he expect? Sarla had not his mother’s skills.

Sarla gave Laren two blankets and told her in her quiet way to sleep close to the fire pit, for the night would be chilly and the still-glowing embers would keep her warm throughout the night. As for Cleve, Sarla merely handed him a blanket and said, “Any place you wish to rest is fine.” Then she smiled at him. Cleve looked down at the slight female in front of him. Didn’t she see the hideous scars on his face? How could she smile at him? Was she nearly blind? He merely nodded to her as he took the blanket.

“Sarla!”

She raised her head to see her husband standing, hands on hips, his handsome features cold with impatience. It was always so with her. He was always impatient, always displeased with her about something. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. She did little that was like his mother did, though Tora had never scolded her or treated her meanly. But her husband did. She sighed, feeling her body retreat inward. He wanted her to come to his bed and she didn’t want to. He wanted her to see to his pleasure. She didn’t want to do that, either, but she supposed she preferred that to lying on her back and feeling him invade her and sweat over her, making those ugly grunting noises. Whatever he wanted, she had no choice. She lowered her head, not looking at anyone for she knew that all the men would realize what her husband wanted of her. She couldn’t bear their knowing.

“Sarla,” Erik called to her again, more of an edge on his voice now. “You will come to my sleeping chamber now.”

It had always been his sleeping chamber, never theirs. Thus it was now with Malverne. Since his father had died, Malverne was his and he enjoyed saying it aloud, for she’d heard him saying it, savoring the taste of it on his tongue. Now his parents’ sleeping