Calanthe

Chapter XXV

Calanthe

The water was cold to touch. A particular stubborn stain refused to wash from the hem of her skirt. her fingers felt raw as they scrubbed against the fabric.

It was peaceful to finally be alone, although she was careful not to stray too far from camp again. Constant ripples disturbed the water, dead leaves blown from the skeletal trees landing on the surface. It was a chilled morning, another sign of the changing seasons. A harsh frost had come during the night. Satisfied with her clothing, she made her way back to camp and the familiar canvas tents.

To her surprise Ingmar was waiting for her. She greeted him as usual and he nodded back at her.

"Calanthe, you've been asked to see Ivar." He said it casually as though it was a suggestion.

"Do you know why?" She laid out her wet clothes over a bush.

"No idea, but, I have been asked to escort you there." He smiled tightly.
Chills went through her bones. The encounter with Ivar unnerved her, he was dangerous and she wished she could avoid him.

"Do I have to go?" She asked.

"I'd rather not get beaten," Ingmar smirked.

"So that means yes." She eyed him carefully.

He nodded in response.

Ivar's tent was at the centre of camp. As Calanthe walked past the site of King Ælle's death, a shiver went up her spine. Fortunately the body had been moved and the weather had since removed the traces of horror. The memory however, was still fresh in her mind.

Ivar the Boneless had a tent that was a grand thing to behold. A carved dragon head protruded from the ceiling. The canvas was blue with thin red stripes that ran vertically. The tent itself was taller and therefore much wider compared to others and the bustle of a campsite gave a wide berth. A startled Gulbrand rushed out of the tent, coming nose to nose with Calanthe. He looked at her with wide eyes before recognising her and storming away, a sour frown adorning his face.

"Enter." Ivar called out from inside.
Ingmar patted her on the shoulder and left. Taking a deep breath, Calanthe took a step inside. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dimly lit tent. Ivar sat on a wooden chair. The leg posts had runes carved into them and when he leaned forward Calanthe saw a hint of an elaborate snake carving on the back rest. At his feet was a large square of fabric. She took a moment to marvel at the bright colours and intricate patterns.

"Do you like it?" he asked, noticing her gaze.

Looking up at him, she nodded.

"It is Islamic silk, traded from the Byzantine Empire. Quite beautiful isn't it?"

Calanthe could only agree.

The man then sat up straight, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. "I don't believe there is any more need for small talk, I haven't asked you here with lack of reason."

Calanthe shuffled from one foot to the other. His cold eyes stared at her, no hint of emotion on his face. His gaze was calculated, as though he was analysing her every move.

"Please, take a seat," He gestured to a simple stool in the corner. Calanthe pulled it to the centre of the tent and sat.

"This feels like an interrogation." She nervously chuckled.