Her heart outright melted. Under the circumstances, she didn’t like it one bit. She pulled her wrists from his grasp and turned away in a decided sulk.
“Ingrid, I—” he began, but whatever he meant to say died on his tongue.
Footsteps drew their attention, a quick rhythm that echoed up the stone stairwell. Inge and Raske self-consciously stepped away from one another. She had not even noticed how close they stood until the threat of an intruder brought it to her attention.
Dagmar appeared in the doorway, a bladed staff in her hand. “Halvard wants you both in the throne room. I’ll keep watch up here.”
Raske immediately strode to the exit.
Inge followed. She chanced to look at Dagmar’s weapon and caught sight of the runes inscribed at the base of the blade: Wisdom, carved there by her father’s hands.
She tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she continued down the stairs. Raske waited for her in the hall below.
“What do you think the king wants with both of us?” she asked.
“Probably a report on the enemy’s progress.”
“But he would only need you for that.”
He suppressed a wry laugh. “Even at this point in the game, we can’t very well leave the bait unguarded.”
He was teasing her. In the face of impending doom, after informing her that she had been the worm on a hook to catch a nasty fish, he had the audacity to tease her about it!
He saw her indignation rise. “We did our best to keep you safe, Ingrid. I did my best.”
“Don’t,” she said. “I’m still mad. Don’t try to reason with me.”
Raske’s brows arched, but he obeyed her request. The silence mollified her injured feelings as they continued on together.
True to Dagmar’s words, King Halvard awaited them upon his throne. Signe’s chair to his right was empty.
“Well?” he inquired of Raske without preamble.
“They’re within ten miles,” the captain reported. “Have you considered the matter we discussed earlier?”
“There was no need to consider it.”
Inge saw frustration chase across Raske’s face, but he refrained from giving it voice.
Halvard saw it too, along with Inge’s confusion. “I will not send Signe away. Her place is here, in the castle. Nowhere else will be safe for her if we fall here. The Dragon and his followers will make sure of that.”
“She can be concealed,” Raske said.
“With whom? Whom do you think I should trust with my daughter, my only true flesh and blood? The nobles are divided. The colonels are divided. The enemy comes, and we have no recourse but to hold our ground.”
“You might conceal her with Master Torvald’s family.”
Inge started at the sound of her father’s name, spoken with such reverence, in barely above a whisper. King Halvard’s straightforward response cut through her like a knife to the heart.
“Master Torvald’s family will be hunted and slaughtered as soon as you and I are dead.”
“What?” Inge cried. “Why? I thought I was the only one in any real danger!”
“It’s because of your father’s circle spell,” said the king. “He bound all of his children into it, which means that any weapon he left behind—the greatest, most powerful cache of weapons we have in this nation—can be destroyed with a few mere words so long as any one of you still lives. This is about more than just the crown or the throne. This is about strength and power, and your father’s armory represents both. Even if you were to destroy them all preemptively,” he added as that very thought entered Inge’s mind, “you would still be hunted and slaughtered, if only out of spite. There are too many of Torvald’s weapons far flung right now for a full destruction anyway. No, I’m afraid that you and your family are very much in danger.”
Inge quelled her instinctive panic. She had unwittingly been in danger for more than a month now and had survived thus far. Besides, this wasn’t the first time her family’s safety had been threatened. “Does Gunnar know?”
Halvard looked to Raske.
“I spoke with him this morning, in private,” the captain disclosed.
The king nodded his approval.
“When I was younger,” said Inge vaguely, “my father’s greatest fear was that we would die because of the weapons he crafted.”
A crooked smile leapt to King Halvard’s face. “Only when you were younger? Well, I should expect that Master Torvald’s brood would be more resilient than the rest of us.”
Her eyes widened, but before she could give voice to the questions in her mind, he changed the subject.
“Ingrid, I want you to stay with Signe. There are two guards stationed outside her room, but I’d prefer she had someone I could trust at her side. She still sees you as her little brother. Keep her company in that role. That is an order,” he added, his voice stern.
Inge nodded.
From beneath his royal cape, he withdrew an item and proffered it to her. “Take this with you, to use only in an emergency. Don’t go looking for trouble.”
She recognized the small, sleek blade. The king must have pulled it from the cache under her bed. The way she had stored her father’s legacy would have required the removal of several other weapons before getting to this one—which meant that he had probably chosen it on purpose.
“Why Forget-me-not?” Inge asked as she received it from him. The metal of the hilt was cold in her hand.
“Because it leaves a lasting impression, of course,” King Halvard replied. “Raske, escort her to Signe’s room, please. Then return to me.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Captain Raske.
Inge’s eyes lifted once to the king’s face as she left. He looked troubled, as though uncertain that he had made the right decision. Inge wondered as well. The king would be the primary target of those who followed the Mark of the Dragon. Signe was doubtless the second objective. If Raske and Halvard died, Inge and the princess would be next on the list. Whether Osvald at this point would spare the princess or kill her remained to be seen, but Inge, as bait, had a definite target on her back.
Chapter 21: Signe Fair
“Aren’t you hungry, Inge?”
Signe lifted a bowl of dinner rolls, as though to tempt her supposed younger brother.
Inge had not eaten a bite since coming. She wouldn’t care if she never saw another morsel of food again, in fact.
“No, thank you,” she said.
Fretfully Signe replaced the plate on the table with the rest of the food that had been brought to her room. She hadn’t eaten anything either; she had no more appetite than Inge. An oppressive atmosphere hung over the castle and all its occupants, and Signe, sensitive soul that she was, knew something was terribly amiss even if no one would give her any details.
Silence stretched taut between them, like a drawn bowstring. Signe broke. “I do wish Papa would not keep secrets from me!”
Inge, startled by such a tone from the usually mild-tempered girl, thought only to soothe her ruffled feathers. “He only wants to protect you.”
“Protect me?” Signe echoed. “If he only wanted to protect me, he would have married me off to Leiv two years ago and crowned him as his heir apparent! He doesn’t want to protect me! He wants to protect his crown and his family legacy! But what good will that do? If he succeeds, if I inherit, how am I to rule properly when I know nothing of the country, of the political affairs? He’s not protecting me at all! He’s… he’s sabotaging me!”
She swallowed two deep breaths to rein in her flustered nerves.
“He’s doing what he thinks is best for you, I’m sure,” Inge ventured. Even to the point of putting other innocent girls in danger, she thought.
Signe favored her with a dry glance and said nothing.
Inge decided to change the subject. “Was that a possibility, you marrying Raske? Two years ago, I mean.”
“It’s always been a possibility, if Papa decided to arrange it tha
t way,” said Signe lightly. “I wanted to marry him when I was little, but then Papa told me how I’d have to cut off my hair if I did. In his mother’s tribe, only unmarried women have long hair, Papa said. Once they get married, they have to cut it off, and since Leiv has to live by his mother’s tribe’s traditions, his wife will too. I guess I liked my long hair more than I liked Leiv, for I promptly gave up any notion of marrying him. But if it’s simply a matter of protection, he is the strongest warrior in the land—he has to be, or else he’d get pounded into a pulp by all the other soldiers because of all the silly rituals he has to keep.”
Inge had fallen into a stupor as she considered the many insights this remark gave her. What pulled her out again was a tightly suppressed snicker from Signe.
The princess covered her mouth, but mischief danced in her eyes.
“What?’ said Inge suspiciously.
Signe schooled her expression. “Nothing.” It was a lie, of course. “Oh, you like him, don’t you?” she amended, unable to contain her thoughts. “You do! Admit it! And you won’t even mind having to cut off all your hair, for you’ve already done it!”
Inge stared at her in horror.
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’re too cute, following him around like a little duckling to its mama. And you’re the daughter of his childhood hero! It’s too perfect! How old are you, really? I’ve tried to guess, but past a certain age it’s so hard to tell. You’re sixteen? Seventeen?”
“I’m eighteen,” Inge corrected. “Signe, you knew?”
The princess adopted a stern expression, one so reminiscent of her father that it sent a jolt of surprise down Inge’s spine. “I may be a little naïve, but I’m not stupid. Eighteen, then. When’s your birthday?”
Inge answered without really thinking. “In the fall. But how long have you known?”
Signe ignored the question. “You’re older than me, then,” she said, disgruntled. “Everyone Papa adopts is always older than me. I want a younger sibling. How can you be older than me and still be so short?”
“How long have you known?” Inge demanded.
“Ever since the first day I met you, of course. I told you that you were almost as pretty as a girl, and the look that crossed your face was so perturbed that I immediately realized, ‘Oh, she is a girl.’ But I knew there had to be a reason you were pretending to be a boy, so I went along with it. I did wonder if maybe I could coerce you into confessing, but of course you never did. I suppose with Death lurking on our doorstep, it doesn’t really matter anymore.”
Again Signe’s careless manner of speaking belied the content of her speech. Inge gaped.
“I may be naïve, but I’m not stupid,” the princess said again. “Mikkel was the only one who ever realized that on his own.” She bit her lower lip. Rapidly her blue eyes blinked away the instinctive tears, and she forced a smile.
Her careless manner was an affectation. Signe was far deeper than she seemed upon a first, a third, or even a tenth encounter.
“You’re something else, Your Highness,” Inge marveled.
“Of course I am,” Signe primly replied.
As darkness loomed ever nearer, the restless atmosphere grew heavier. Close to dusk, King Halvard came to wish his daughter good night. He kissed her forehead affectionately and told her to sleep well, and to watch after her little brother.
“Good night, my son,” he added to Inge.
Signe stood by with a neutral expression, as though she didn’t suspect a thing.
“Good night, Your Majesty,” Inge replied, shamefully self-conscious. If each royal knew individually that she was a girl, why should she have to continue as a boy when they were both together? But Halvard didn’t know that Signe knew, and Signe didn’t want him to know, and Inge would maintain that balance until one or the other cracked. Or until she did.
As the king left, Inge impulsively darted after him into the hall. “How far did the enemy advance?” she asked, her voice hushed.
He looked her over from head to toe. “They’re three miles out; they’ve set up camp, as though they have no intention of coming any further. Raske and I will be in the throne room. Stay here with Signe and keep her safe.”
“Would it not be better for all of us to wait together?” Inge pressed, worried at the burden of responsibility upon her shoulders.
“No,” he said shortly. “The Dragon and Osvald both will want to take Signe alive, to lend credibility to their rule over the kingdom, if it comes to that. Me, on the other hand, they both want dead. I shall spare her that spectacle, if possible.”
Confusion tumbled over Inge. “I thought the Dragon and Osvald were one and the same.”
“How silly of you,” Halvard replied. “Osvald was only ever a pawn in any of this, the poor boy.” He turned on his heel then and left, with no further explanation.
With tense misgivings, Inge returned to Signe’s room. The princess was lighting a branch of candles from the fire in her grate. Outside, daylight faded into dark.
“Signe, what do you know of Prince Osvald?” Inge asked.
The princess froze in her task. Wax pattered from the candlestick to the ground.
“I feel sorry for him,” Signe whispered. “He’s broken, and nothing can fix him.” She met Inge’s gaze, her blue eyes rimmed with tears. “I thought I should try to love him, but I was too selfish. I am too selfish,” she corrected. “He was like a brother to me, but nothing more. That’s what all of this is about, isn’t it?”
“I thought it was, but there’s something else,” Inge replied. “Your father says that Osvald is a pawn. Who’s controlling him, then?”
Signe’s face was blank. She shook her head, a barely discernable movement.
Inge thought of Baron Adelborg, of the overheard conversation. He had seemed more like a messenger than a leader, but perhaps she was wrong. “Is there a noble that seeks the crown?”
“Is there a noble that doesn’t?” Signe asked. “Even Mikkel’s parents have their ambitions. Perhaps even Mikkel himself—perhaps that’s why he…” Her voice trailed off as a troubled frown creased her brows.
Inge was no longer sure of anyone’s loyalty, Mikkel Sparre included. His engagement to Lina Adelborg might be a sign of treachery. But if he or his parents truly wanted the throne, would they have accepted such a proposal? And would they have sought King Halvard’s approval beforehand, as they did?
“Mikkel is to marry Lina, though, and by his parents’ arrangement,” said Inge carefully. “That doesn’t show ambition for the throne.”
“Lina’s always wanted to be queen,” Signe replied with a wan smile. “I don’t know the answer, Inge. My father hasn’t confided in me. No one has.”
Inge saw an isolated princess, powerless in her isolation. “He should have. You should have demanded that he confide in you.”
Signe opened her mouth to respond, but voices sounded from the hallway. She and Inge both trained their attention on the door. Inge surreptitiously grasped the dagger hilt tucked into her belt.
A tap-tap-tap rhythm punctuated the dimness of the room. “Your Highness?” called a voice from the hall, a man.
“Who’s there?” Signe called back.
A key turned in the lock. Signe and Inge exchanged an alarmed glance. Even the soldiers outside didn’t have a key. As the door eased open, Inge’s grip on the dagger tightened. Instinctive dread plunged through her as she recognized the false smile of the man who peeked into the room.
“Baron Adelborg?” Signe inquired. “Why have you come at this hour?”
“Ah! I see our young Prince Inge is here as well, as expected,” said Baron Adelborg as he stepped further into the room. “With night upon us, it’s hardly appropriate for the two of you to occupy the same room, don’t you agree?” A figure, a dark-clad servant, stepped in behind him and quietly shut the door.
Signe’s back straightened. “I must ask you to leave. Guards!” she called.
The servant at the d
oor snickered into his hand. His face was half-hidden, though Inge could see that he was clean-shaven. His flaxen hair, too, was shorn as short as hers.
“Guards!” Signe called again.
“They’re not coming, of course,” said Baron Adelborg, a note of condescension in his voice. “We’ve dealt with them already. We’re here to retrieve you, Your Highness, before the bloodbath begins. You’re to be spared, you see. Now do come quietly.”
He moved forward, hands reaching. Inge stepped between him and Signe, but she needn’t have bothered. In a flash, the servant behind him wrenched him by the arm and yanked him back.
“You dare?” he hissed into the nobleman’s ear. “You dare even attempt to touch her? I told you she was mine!”
Baron Adelborg gurgled a response, his eyes wide. They moved from the servant’s face to the ceiling. The cause of this strange reaction manifested when the nobleman’s knees buckled. The servant twisted a knife out from between the man’s ribs as he fell.
A dazzling grin spread across his clean-shaven face, and he raised smiling eyes to the princess. There was something wrong with those eyes, Inge thought instinctively, that they could smile so brightly while a man lay dying upon the floor.
The servant spoke. “Signe, my sweet love! You have grown more beautiful than ever!”
“Oh. Osvald,” said Signe faintly. “I did not recognize you in such poor light.”
Chapter 22: The Mask Removed
Nightfall in the smithy was always an eerie transition. As daylight faded, the burning forge surpassed it in brightness. The fire cast long, flickering shadows on the soot-stained walls, like impish minions crawling from their hiding places. Tonight, the fire had faded to red-hot embers, drowning the whole place in inky, writhing darkness.
Gunnar banked the coals, sweat thick on his brow from a hard day’s work. He had tried to stay focused on the tasks Master Kettil had given him, but his mind kept wandering to the looming dangers around him. Nighttime could bring a siege of monsters upon the city, upon the castle. The master-smith and his apprentice had labored through the day to fortify the grounds, even in the smallest of means: everything from armor repairs to inspections of the great castle gates and hinges. There was not time enough to prepare in full for such a sudden attack, though. Gunnar wasn’t worried about himself, but he worried for Inge’s sake. She had advantages over the average citizenry, but that was hardly a reason to invite trouble to her door.
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