Painted Blade || sihtric

2.

   BACK in Coccham, Bemia walked beside her brother toward the hall, dressed in her normal attire that consisted of black trousers, a black long-sleeved tunic, and a brown leather vest that had furs sewn into the neckline to keep her warm.

"Make sure you eat, sister," Uhtred said, sheathing his sword across his back. "And get some rest."

Bemia faintly smiled as she saw Gisela and the two children up ahead. "Not before I see the children," she happily said.

Uhtred raised a brow at her but then smiled when he saw his wife and children. "Now there's a welcome sight, my wife and boy." His son ran up to the pair and he lifted him up with a small grunt as Bemia laughed. "I think we might be feeding him too much."

"Don't forget your daughter, she is here too," Gisela teased as Uhtred kissed the top of his daughter's head and then his wife's lips.

"Who could ever forget a beautiful face like that?" Bemia hummed, waving at the baby girl while Gisela warmly smiled.

"It went well?" Gisela questioned, walking toward the hall with them.

"It did, not a scratch," Uhtred said, glancing at his sister. "Bemia killed the man with her charm, as usual."

"I only hope that one day it is a handsome man I get to kill so then I could enjoy more," Bemia admitted with a small laugh.

Gisela sent her and Uhtred a worrying look. "You have a visitor," she announced and Bemia shared a look with her brother who put his son down. "He has been here all night."

"Here we go," Bemia tiredly sighed, pushing the hall door open to see Aethelwold sitting at the head of the long wooden table. Just the sight of him made her annoyed and for good reason. The first time they met, he tried to whore her and that same day he nearly lost his hand.

Uhtred rolled his eyes at the sight of Aethelwold as he followed behind his sister, taking his weapons off. "Aethelwold. How much of my ale have you drunk?"

"Probably all of it," Bemia snickered, sitting down at her usual chair. "Isn't that right, Aethelwold?" She grinned, kicking her booted feet up on the table.

Aethelwold wasn't the smartest man, but he knew better than to glare at the young woman. So instead, he stood up, squaring his shoulders. "Not a cup. Not a drop of ale has passed my lips for ten days or more."

"You have been ill?" Uhtred questioned, pulling his leather vest over his head.

"Not ill," he firmly said, "but...sober, which, as you know, is unlike me." Bemia snorted, not believing him for a second as Uhtred stopped behind her chair, staring him down. "But it is important that you accept that I am...sober."

Uhtred stretched his back with a small groan as Bemia dropped her feet from the table, slipping the vest off her chest. The second her vest landed on the table, she happily sighed, slumping back into the seat.

"Say what you are here to say," Uhtred ordered Aethelwold, "you have waited long enough." He sat down beside his sister, picking grapes from a bowl while passing her a piece of bread that she happily took.

"The dead speak," Aethelwold said after a long moment and the siblings looked at him. "I have seen it, heard it. And the dead speak."

Gisela walked toward the table with a plate of cheese. "The dead," she repeated with a questionable look.

"A corpse," Aethelwold added as she filled up Uhtred and Bemia's cups with ale. "I saw him rise from his grave and speak."

"And what did this corpse say?" Bemia asked, raising a brow.