“I was abandoned in an isolated arctic town when I was only a few days old. Whatever happened, whoever my mother was, she wanted to keep me hidden—maybe because she was embarrassed, or scared, or something else entirely. But if she hid a newborn baby, I seriously doubt she was shouting her pregnancy from the rooftops,” I argued coolly.
“Perhaps.” The Queen lifted one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. “But wants and needs change when situations change. What seems joyous one day can seem overwhelming the next.”
“Did Orra ever mention that she wanted children?” I asked.
Bodil snorted. “Hardly. She frequently announced her disdain for the whole idea. All of her brothers were dead and buried by the time she was twenty-one, and growing up around all that death soured her on the idea of bringing more innocent lives into the world.”
“That sounds like a good reason to leave a baby for adoption and hide her pregnancy,” I pointed out.
“It also sounds like a good reason not to get pregnant in the first place,” she snapped back. “But what’s more significant is that Orra didn’t have much of a social life or a need for one. She threw herself into her work as a palace guard, and … you were born in October 1999, correct?”
I nodded. “The beginning of October.”
“Then it can’t possibly be her,” the Queen said with a click of her tongue. “In the summer and fall, she was on a mission with my husband—well, my betrothed back then. If she was pregnant, that’s not something she would’ve been able to hide from Thor.”
I sat up straighter. “Is that the mission she didn’t come back from?” I pointed to the telegram beside her. “The one you asked about in the telegram?”
Her large hands were clasped together, and she met my gaze evenly. “Yes. That’s the one.”
“But your husband, he came back?” I pressed.
“Yes, he did.” She glanced back at the paper and the date scrawled on it. “He was home when I sent this message. Orra had been on a mission, and she was due to come back shortly after him, but she never did.”
“They were searching for the Lost Bridge of Dimma,” I said.
She nodded. “And they thought they’d found it for a while.” A strange, sad smile formed on her burgundy lips, and she stared at the floor. “I suppose they did actually find it—it just wasn’t what they thought it’d be.
“There’s no real harm in telling you this now, since the kingdom gave up its nonsensical quest for the bridge long ago,” she said with a weary sigh. “The quest for the Lost Bridge had been sold to the late King Thor by his adviser Helge Otäck, who turned out to be as stupid as he was corrupt. But we didn’t know that then, of course, so Thor had believed him when he told him that across the bridge they would find treasures and gems and untold riches, and all that would be the Omte’s for the taking—if they could only find it.
“So Thor went after the bridge, and he took some of his guards along with him to help him in the search,” Bodil explained. “When they got close, the Älvolk became involved, which is what Helge’s telegram was about. Things were tense over there, so I sent my cousin Orra, who also happened to be one of the guards at the palace.
“Shortly after Orra got there, they discovered the truth, and what the Älvolk were trying to hide,” she went on. “The bridge existed, but it went to nowhere. It was nothing but an arched structure, a monument to fallen warriors and long-dead heroes. There were no treasures, no riches, nothing of interest.
“The King came back first, leaving behind his guards—including Orra—to make a polite departure from the Älvolk,” Bodil said. “The others followed within a week, but Orra never did. I tried to find out what happened to her, but I was never able to.”
“So, they were there for a long while, months or more,” I said. “Where did they stay? Were they in Áibmoráigi?”
“I don’t know precisely where they stayed,” she said. “They traveled to Sweden, and Thor first went to the Trylle-Skojare city of Isarna. Eventually Thor and his team moved out from there and went to stay with the Älvolk, which was when Orra arrived. The King was there to be closer to the bridge, I presumed.”
“Do you have any idea where that would be?” I pressed.
“No, why would I?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at me. “I never went there, because there is nothing there. Thor left empty-handed, angry that he’d wasted a year of our lives and gold from our vault, and he vowed to never let our kingdom waste another minute or cent on nothing.”
“If you never went there, how did you investigate what happened to Orra?” I asked. “She was last seen in Sweden, right?”
“Thor went back, and his guards went with him,” she explained. “I stayed here, with Helge, to help rule in his stead.”
“You were Queen then?” I asked. “Did you marry between when he first came back and when he went to find Orra?”
Bodil tried to keep her face blank, but the corner of her mouth twitched subtly. “No. Thor and I didn’t wed until 2006. He had a few things he wanted to do before he settled down, like going on this guests fool’s errand after the Lost Bridge. After finding nothing on enough of these ideas, he decided it was better to stay at home.”
“And you stayed behind, to help keep the kingdom in order,” I said, and she nodded. “And you’re sure that he never found anything?”
“I’m sure because Thor was sure,” she replied. “Thor was many things—crass, stubborn, passionate—but he was not a liar, and he wasn’t a stupid troll. If he says there was nothing, I believe him.”
I sank back in my seat. “Right, of course. I’m sorry. I never intended to disparage the King.”
“His memory is not so easily disparaged,” she insisted. “He stuck to his word, and he promised the Älvolk that he would keep the location of their bridge a secret, lest it be overcome with fortune-seekers and tourists. It is nothing, but it is their private nothing.
“Thor kept his word,” she said. “All I know of the location is that it’s across the ocean and nearly as far north as the land will go.” She shifted in her seat. “But I thought you came here to find out about Orra. This feels more like an interrogation about my late husband.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I only wanted to find out what happened to her, and things may have gotten a little sidetracked.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think there’s much I can tell you that you don’t already know,” Bodil said. “Orra went on a mission, and she never came back. The King led an investigation, but he never found her. As her only living family, I declared her dead years after her disappearance to pay respect to her memory. That’s all there is to it, really.”
“What about the others who went on the mission? Could any of them possibly have insight into her final days?” I asked.
“No,” she replied with severe finality. “The King questioned them at the time, and they knew nothing more than what I’ve said. I would suggest that you talk to them and find out for yourself, but they’re all gone.”
“Gone where?” I asked.
“Died,” she clarified flatly. “Ødis Haugen was killed in a hunting accident, Dorri Avdod died after extended illness last fall, Tarben Gribb and Helge Otäck died in the Invasion of Doldastam five years ago, and King Thor Elak died in an incident at the Ugly Vulture nine years ago.”
“So that’s it, then,” I realized.
“Yes, sadly, it is. And there’s nothing more I can tell you.”
8
Snails
I sank deeper into the cushions of Rikky’s couch, staring up at the slow rotation of the car-door fan blades. Pan was down at the Inhemsk Project local office, which was basically a janitor’s closet with some file cabinets and a perpetually irritated clerk, if both Rikkys and Pan’s claims were to be believed. There wasn’t really enough room for two, so he went there alone to try to find out more about Áibmoráigi and Orra Fågel, and Rikky had gone to her part-time job as a nursing assistant at the Omte clinic.
My meeting with Bodil ended way before Rikky had gotten done with work. When she had dropped me off, she said she’d be back around eleven to get me. Waiting at the palace was far easier and safer than me attempting to navigate the wild swamp on my own, so that’s what I did.
I had assumed that the Omte palace would have a library or a museum. The Trylle palace even had a small gift shop that sold gilded stationery, jewelry with their vine insignia, and various other emerald trinkets. But there was nothing at the Omte palace. The Queen directed me to wait in the front hall.
I passed the time by counting the snails crawling on the palace walls. Before visiting here, I never would’ve guessed that this was something I would be doing, and I never would’ve fathomed that if I did, I’d make it into the upper double digits. To their credit, though, the snails were truly spectacular. They were semitransparent and shimmery, with vibrant swirls of purple, blue, and red wrapping around their shells.
The only thing that drew my attention from my newfound hobby of snail-watching was a strange sound coming from deeper inside the palace. It was like muffled shouting … or maybe yodeling? I was alone—the guard had gone to his post, and the Queen had gone off to wherever she goes—so I walked down the hall, past the narrow corridor that led to the Queen’s sitting room, until the hall ended in a set of dark wooden doors.
Despite the heft of the doors, they pushed open rather easily. The brass doorknobs were dull, worn down, and apparently no longer lockable. I peered into the empty ballroom to see the nine-year-old Crown Prince Furston running around, wearing nothing but a burnt-orange cap and a pair of boxer briefs.
Or at least I assumed it was the Crown Prince, because I didn’t know what other little boy would be running around the palace half nude.
He had his back to me, his long unkempt curls flying behind him as he brandished a large stick, carrying it around like a trident. Flying above him and keeping pace was a huge bearded vulture with rusty white and black feathers, but I couldn’t tell if the bird was chasing the boy or escaping from him.
Furston’s cracking tenor made it difficult to understand the words he was singing, but I think it was some type of nursery rhyme. It was catchy and cheery, but something about the way he sang it, with his vulnerable vibrato, made it strangely haunting.
Sing, sing the heroes,
The worm is full of flowers,
Hush hush the morning light
Down falls the darkest night
And now the end is ours
“Miss,” the guard’s voice boomed behind me, and I jumped a little before quickly turning to face him. “I believe your ride is here.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t snooping,” I apologized hurriedly. “I heard a noise—”
“Miss, I don’t really care one way or another,” he interrupted me. “I’m only here to escort you.”
“Right. Thank you,” I mumbled and followed him back to the main hall.
He paused near the front door to pluck a snail off the wall and plop it into his mouth with a loud crunch. After that, he ushered me out and onto Rikky’s airboat. As the boat took off, I leaned back into the seat, relishing the way the wind felt after the dank, stale air of the palace.
The ride back to her house went surprisingly fast. Once we got there, Rikky went about tending to her animals. I offered to help, but she told me to relax and poured me a glass of cold water.
“Are you sure you don’t want my help?” I asked her again. I was lounging on the couch, under the slowly spinning metal blades, and she’d come back in to feed Wade the squirrel.
“Nah, I got it covered.” She opened the door to the cage, and the gray fur ball scampered up her arm and perched on her shoulders. “You look like you’ve had a long day.”
“Are you talking to me or the squirrel?” I asked.
Rikky laughed, tossing back her head as she did, and Wade nibbled on her chandelier earrings. “You, Ulla.”
“No, it wasn’t a long day. Just…” I trailed off, not knowing how to say how I felt without coming off as ungrateful about meeting with the Queen.
“But you didn’t find out what you hoped to find out,” Rikky supplied for me.
“The Queen didn’t have very much information to share with me,” I answered diplomatically.
“What were you hoping she’d be able to give you?” Rikky worked as she talked, refilling food and water and tossing soiled shavings into a compost bag.
“I mean, I had hoped to get all the answers to all my questions,” I said with a dry laugh. “I thought she’d at least point me in the direction of something. Yeah, I didn’t really think I’d stroll up and she’d introduce me to my parents when I got there, but I did think she would have something more substantial than … nothing.”
Rikky went over to the sink, speaking louder to be heard over the sound of her washing her hands. “Did she give a reason why she couldn’t let you know anything?”
“Basically that there’s nobody left alive to tell me anything,” I said. “Not about Orra, not about Áibmoráigi, not about anything I asked about.”
“That’s not true.” Rikky put one hand on her hip and looked down at me.
“Yeah, I figured that, but that’s what she told me.”
“No, I mean, there’s a guy that hangs out at this bar, the Ugly Vulture. He’s not there a lot, maybe once a month, max, probably less than that. But he’s always talking up the ladies. I’m not gonna lie—I let him buy me a drink a couple times.” She pressed her lips into a thin smile, then rolled her eyes. “He wasn’t really my type—too old, and sort of intense. But he offered, and a free drink’s a free drink.
“Anyway,” she went on with a self-deprecating laugh, “he’s not shy at all but never shared anything about himself. So, one night, he’s talking me up, and I egged him on, ordering him enough shots to loosen his lips. He ends up telling me that he’s an Älvolk and he’s from the First City.
“I thought then—and I still think now—that he was full of crap and trying to impress me so he could get laid,” Rikky said. “That’s why I didn’t say anything sooner. But he never says anything about it when he’s sober, so I think maybe there’s a kernel of truth buried there. And if the Queen is giving you the runaround, he’s probably better than nothing.”
I sat up straighter on the couch. “Do you think he’d talk to me?”
“I think he’ll talk to any attractive female, and you’re plenty attractive.”
My cheeks burned at the subtle compliment. “Thanks. I think.”
“Oh, whatever.” Rikky had her back to me as she filled a mason jar with raspberry lemonade from the icebox—then topped it off with a splash of vodka from the bottle she stashed on a shelf. “You’re young with great skin, unique eyes, and a nice pair of boobs. That’s hot enough for most folks out there.”
“I don’t know about that.” I tried to skirt around the topic as much as I could. “Do you think this guy would be at the bar tonight?”
“What’s today?” She took a sip of her drink and peered over at the Moomin calendar tacked up on her wall. “Tuesday? Oh, nope. Not today. The Ugly Vulture is always closed on Tuesdays. That’s when they have gator wrestling.”
“When would be a good time to go?” I asked.
“Any other night is as good as the next,” Rikky said with a shrug. “But if you really wanna find out more about him, you should talk to that Vallin girl.”
“Bekk Vallin from the Postkontor?” I asked, and I realized that this was the second time today she’d come up in conversation.
“That’s her.” Rikky nodded. “I don’t know her, but Fulaträsk isn’t that big a place, so I know of her, and everybody talks. Around six, seven months ago I heard around town that she was socializing with him, but the rumors fizzled out almost as fast as they started—until a few months later when her big old baby bump shows up.”
“You think that guy is having a baby with Bekk?”
“Maybe. It’s rumors on top of rumo
rs, so it all should be taken with a grain of salt,” Rikky clarified.
“I planned on heading to the Postkontor tomorrow. I’ll ask about him, see what she says,” I said. “What’s his name?”
“Indu.” She paused, thinking. “Indu Mattison.”
9
Roaming
The Jeep was the only place I really had privacy, thanks to Rikky’s paper-thin walls. While Rikky and Pan were cleaning up after supper, I took out the composting, then snuck down to the vehicle, which was parked near the dock.
I sat in the driver’s seat with the window open, letting the warm breeze blow over me. On my phone, I pulled up my messenger and scrolled through my contacts until I finally landed on Bryn Aven.
Me: Hey, Bryn. It was great seeing you a few weeks ago. We really need to catch up when you have a chance. But until then, I was wondering if I could ask you about something.
Bryn: Yeah, it was good to see you too. I have some downtime now. What do you need?
Me: Do you remember someone named Bekk or Rebekka Vallin?
Bryn: Yes, I do. We knew each other during the war, but I haven’t talked to her much since.
Me: Do you trust her?
Bryn: I did five years ago, but a lot could’ve changed since then. Why do you ask?
Me: She works at the Omte records office, and she’s helping me find my parents. After I mentioned I knew you, she got me a meeting with the Queen Regent.
Bryn: So you met Bodil? What’d you think of her?
Me: She wasn’t what I expected, but I don’t really know what I expected for an Omte Queen. You’ve met her before?
Bryn: A few times now. I asked for her help before the war, but I’ve had limited interactions with her at big royal social events, like King Linus’s wedding a year ago, and a few weeks ago at Linus’s jubilee.
Me: What are your thoughts on her?
Bryn: Hard to say. I haven’t been able to figure out if she’s dense and mean, or if it’s all an act and she’s a diabolical genius. I’m leaning toward dumb and cruel, though.
The Morning Flower Page 5
