I stopped looking at the women of the court and began searching the faces of the men. They all looked the same. They all wore black suits with long coat tails. Most had top hats. Their hair was slicked back, and regardless of their natural coloring, the style made it look dark and shiny. A few wore scarves at their necks instead of cravats—always cream or white. In fact, the crowd looked strangely homogenous in color—they almost all drew from the same palette of taupe, rose, cream and black—despite the occasional dash of blue or green.
Then I faltered because I spotted him. Reister, standing in a group of people, staring at me. His dark blue eyes narrowed as he watched me approach. The skin of his face was pale, but for two small patches of red on his cheekbones. Not a good sign.
As we approached I must have tightened my grip on Bersi’s hand. He whimpered and tugged to free himself, and ran into the legs of a man with a large belly and a pair of spectacles perched on his nose. The man lost his balance and stumbled into a couple who exclaimed in outrage. In his efforts to steady himself he knocked the woman’s hat off of her head.
“Oh, Bersi, you must apologize!” I said.
Already glancing about wildly, Bersi’s eyes widened as he stared at the man and the couple righting themselves as they complained.
“Bersi!” I said.
Too late I saw his lip trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a howl.
Anyone who was not already staring at us turned to see the source of this new siren. Bersi’s head tilted back and his body went loose. He would have crumpled to the ground but I caught him under the arms and hoisted him up to carry him. He wasn’t such a little boy anymore, at least by weight, but all the sights, sounds and tension had overwhelmed him at last.
Bersi sobbed into my shoulder and I rubbed his back as I hurried to get to Reister’s side. My husband had never looked less pleased to see us, and he was cold on the best occasions. His eyes darted around, taking stock of the damage we had caused. He pressed his lips together so tightly they were white.
I don’t know whether Reister would have said something—either to me or to his mother, who looked almost as pale as he did—but at that moment a peal of trumpets cut through the noisy chatter of the crowd. Everyone shuffled about purposefully. I still carried Bersi and I watched Reister and Mother Tora to see where to go. In a moment the center aisle of the Great Hall had cleared and everyone stood on either side. I noticed for the first time that there were tiers on either side so people could stand at ever higher levels and see down to the aisle. We remained at floor level, near the front of our part of the crowd. I set Bersi back down on his feet and kept both hands on his shoulders. He was sniffling irregularly, his chest still heaving, but he stood still and watched.
The oversized doors we’d come in through swung open and a procession began to march towards the other end of the Hall.
Musicians with drums, violins, and trumpets led the way. Dancers dressed in elaborate feathered costumes came next, whirling and sometimes flipping in the air. Though the courtiers struck me as worldly and jaded, the dancer’s tricks brought gasps from them at times. As they reached the front the musicians arrayed themselves in the background of the dais I noticed for the first time. It was raised and adorned with purple velvet, calla lilies and large ribbons of cloth of gold. The dancers split into two groups as they reached it, kneeling in front of it in a tense way that made my muscles ache to look at them.
After the dancers came thirty or so robed men—novices of the cult of Tyr, by the looks of the upward pointing arrow patterns on their robes. Three held swinging bulbs of incense, two dozen carried purple candles, and as the musicians continued to play a pulsing melody, all of the novices sang a low chant. Two vigjas—priests—of Tyr came next, their purple robes trimmed in silver, each carrying a golden box before them. Then on an open palanquin carried by novices came the high vigja, his robe made of cloth of gold, trimmed in Tyr’s sacred purple. They marched to the dais, the novices with the incense and candles lining up among the dancers. The two vigjas climbed up onto the dais and stood at either end. The novices carrying the palanquin mounted the dais. They set the palanquin down and the high vigja alighted, taking his position in the center of the stage. The novices picked the palanquin back up, descended the dais, and set themselves off to one side. The high priest looked out at the crowd. His white hair was long and smoothly combed, but his eyebrows were wild and bushy. His eyes stared fiercely out from under them. He raised his hands in an abrupt V, then brought them down in a sharp gesture, holding the pose—he was an upward pointing arrow in human form. A murmur of appreciation traveled through the audience.
The trumpeters sounded out a herald.
The drums followed, rattling out an insistent rhythm.
A bare-headed blond man clad in gold and an equally bare-headed woman (whose dark brown hair was cropped as short as everyone else’s) in silver strode slowly down the aisle arm in arm. This must be Jöfur Eiflar and his wife, about to be crowned konunger and konungdis of Ódalnord. As they approached the courtiers bent down until each was on one knee. It looked like a wave, following as the couple progressed, and soon they reached us, and we bent down as well. I had continued to hold Bersi in my arms, high up so he could see, but now I set him down so he too could kneel.
Only after they had ascended the dais did we lift our faces, although we all remained on one knee. It occurred to me that the entire event seemed designed to make everyone as uncomfortable as possible—the dancers in their tense poses, the novices holding up their long candles, the high vigja in his arrow stance, us on our knees, which soon ached until I thought I would collapse from the pain.
How useless, I thought, to inflict such punishment. It only served to distract me from the ritual taking place on the stage, so that I barely noticed after some time what they were doing and saying. I saw the silver priests approach with their boxes and the gold high vigja extract the crowns from each. I saw him place the crown on the jöfur’s head, and then on the jöfurdis’s. At some point they lost those titles and became konunger and konungdis. And then the whole procession had to pass by again before it was over, before we could think of relief.
When the massive doors finally shut on the last of the parade, I heard a groan from the crowd as if the spectators were one. I knew that everyone would try to stand as gracefully as possible, but most of us would not be able to keep from wobbling. It was hardest for the elderly spectators—others had to help most of them to their feet. I almost fell, my knee throbbing. I supposed that everyone agreed, without needing to utter a word, to forget this moment and recall only the coronation and the pomp that had accompanied it.
And me. No doubt, they would remember me.
~~~
“Take him to our apartments immediately,” Reister said through clenched teeth, not even favoring Bersi with a glance. Bersi hid his face in my skirt.
I stared at Reister. It was the first thing he said as soon as the crowd began breaking up. Not a word of greeting, of course. “I hardly know where that is,” I said. “I had to follow Mother Tora to find my way here.”
“You will take him to our apartments,” Reister growled, “and then return to the ball. But not before you find something suitable to wear.” He turned his shark-like gaze on his mother. “I told you to dress her.”
“Reister, darling—” she began. A few eyes glanced our way as people moved towards the doors. Heat rose in my face. Reister noticed as well, but he didn’t stop his tirade.
“I specifically sent you to fetch her because I knew something like this would happen. I am humiliated, Mother!”
“It’s not so bad,” I interjected. He turned his dark blue eyes to me and glowered. “It isn’t!” I insisted. “So my dress is out of fashion. They’ll talk a bit, and then what? The coronation is far more interesting than what I’m wearing!”
“You made me look like a fool! And the brat with his screaming! Take him out of here.”
“Reister�
�” I said.
“Silence. I have nothing to say to you. Mother, take her to our apartments this instant. See to it that she dresses appropriately this time. I will wait for you at the ball. Don’t take long!”
Mother Tora sighed and shook her head, taking my arm and leading me, with Bersi trailing behind me, holding my hand.
“Did I not warn you, Myadar?” she muttered. “Did I not say? He’s furious. We haven’t heard the last of this.”
The whole thing exhausted me. I wanted nothing more than to gather poor Bersi, who was tearing up again, into my arms. I would find a car and driver somehow, and we would go home. Oh, the thought of home provoked a wrenching feeling in my heart. Home, where I could kneel by Gasi in the flower beds and pull weeds. Where Arinn, the cook, would take apples from the fall harvest and make a pie for dessert. Where I could watch Perna chase Bersi around the grand salon for some silly mischief as he giggled so hard he couldn’t outrun her.
I yearned to leave this dreadful place, with its long, cold corridors and impossibly high ceilings. Cold glass sconces lighted the way, the pale blue-tinted lights providing no warmth.
Our own apartments were all white, black, silver, and glass. Chandeliers, hanging spirals of cut crystal, cast the same bluish light over everything. The white armchairs stood in the geometric shapes one saw everywhere in Helésey—chevrons and triangles. Silver trim lined windows and where the walls met the floors and ceilings. Mirrors hung in every room, large and icy. The rugs on the floor displayed black and white designs—some angular, some with the stylized lilies and lotuses I’d noticed on the buildings when we drove through the city.
Mother Tora disappeared into her rooms and I led Bersi into the bedroom I’d been assigned. I would not be sleeping with Reister, it seemed, and for that I was grateful. Sveinn had shown me a separate room for Bersi, but I had no intention of putting him down in there. He would sleep in my bed and when this awful night was over, I’d be glad to find him there when I retired.
“Come now, dearest,” I said softly, opening my trunk and finding his sleeping gown. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.”
Bersi still looked upset, but he had stopped crying and his breathing was back to normal.
“You’ll see, dear, everything will be better in the morning.” After all, things couldn’t get much worse than they were tonight, I thought.
“I want to go home,” he said at last, his lip beginning to tremble again.
I wanted to agree with him, but I caught myself. It would do no good to promise him something I might not be able to deliver—at least not right away. “I know, sweetling. I miss home too,” I said. “But we’re visiting Papa. And wasn’t the coronation impressive? What did you think of the dancers?”
He considered the question, raising his eyes as he pictured them. I pulled off his shirt and pants. “I liked the one with the big feathery fans in her hands. She jumped so high!”
“I saw. She was very wonderful.”
“I liked the trumpets, too. And the drums.”
“The music was very nice,” I said as I put the sleeping gown over his head and helped him put his arms into the sleeves.
“Do you think I could have a drum, Mama? Or a trumpet?”
I pursed my lips and gazed at him for a moment. “I don’t see why not. When we get home, I’ll ask Gasi if he knows anyone in town who could give you lessons. Would you like that?”
“Oh, yes!” A smile broke over his face that made my heart clench. I sent a prayer to the gods that I would be able to fulfill my offer soon.
“Very well then, dearest. I won’t forget.”
He wrapped his arms around my neck and I hugged him tight.
“Come now, it’s time for bed.”
I stood with him in my arms and carried him to the bed, laying him down and pulling the covers up over his shoulders.
“Are you warm enough?”
He nodded.
“What will you dream about tonight, my sweet?”
Bersi frowned and considered this. “I shall drive a car,” he said. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “And a boat.”
“A car and a boat! Well, you will be traveling a bit then.”
“I shall take you with me, Mama. And we’ll drive and sail all the way home.”
I kissed his cheek, and then his forehead. “That sounds like a lovely dream, dearest. You must tell me all about it tomorrow. Sleep well.”
~~~
Mother Tora waited in the boudoir outside of my bedroom with Sveinn. She sat on one of the odd-looking couches, all angles and corners. Sveinn stood at her side, a dress draped over one arm.
“Finally,” she said crossly. “You’ll keep Reister waiting and he’s already upset.”
“I had to get Bersi ready for bed,” I said.
“Why you insist on doing the work of servants is beyond me,” Mother Tora said. I saw no servants waiting to help me with my son, but since I didn’t want their help, I thought it best not to point it out. “Nevertheless. Sveinn, give Myadar the dress.”
The golden robot obliged, reaching out his arm with the dress hanging over it. I took it. It was made of a satiny material in beige, worked over the front with shiny beads in the shape of simplified lotuses.
“Try it on,” Mother Tora said. “Keep your stockings, of course. I have gloves and shoes, and we’ll see about a necklace and bracelets once you’re dressed. There’s nothing to be done about your hair tonight, but I have a hat that will do.”
I looked at the dress I held and then down at the one I wore. “But won’t everyone talk even more if I turn up at the ball having changed? They’ll notice and they’ll know we were embarrassed.”
“Oh, Myadar, allow me to disabuse you of any hope that they might be unaware we’re embarrassed!”
With a sigh I turned to the bedroom, but I stopped. I didn’t want to dress in there—it was sure to wake Bersi. I headed for his room instead.
“And do hurry, Myadar,” Mother Tora called after me.
~~~
Walking through the crowded ballroom felt surreal. I’d been so anxious to arrive on time to the coronation, I’d hardly taken in the number of people. Now, with all of their eyes assessing me, and without Bersi to think about, a sense of awkwardness overcame me. I knew no one but Mother Tora and Reister, and I had little experience with such a large group. My wedding boasted some five hundred guests, but I’d known at least half of them, as they were friends and family from Asterlund. There had to be at least twice as many people here, all in this one ballroom, and every face was unfamiliar.
I marveled again at the women’s dresses—although now I wore one just as short and loose. I felt terribly strange, like I was in my sleeping gown. The sensation did nothing to bolster my confidence. I wanted to wrap my arms around myself, but I knew that would only show them how uncomfortable I felt. Instead I tried not to think of how I looked or how the dress I wore brushed the tops of my calves, and instead I focused on the faces and dresses of the women I passed as Mother Tora led the way to Reister.
It struck me again that almost all the women had short hair. It might have made them childlike, but their faces were painted like dolls. They rouged their cheeks and painted careful, curved red on their lips, with a bit of powder to make their mouths look smaller than they naturally were. Blurred charcoal lines darkened their eyelids. Their eyes, dark and light, brown and blue, met mine and then slid away. As before, they leaned they heads together and whispered behind their hands, giggling.
“There you are,” Mother Tora said.
I turned from the crowd to face Reister, who looked me up and down with a sneer.
“Finally. I had been waiting almost an hour,” he said.
“We’re here now,” I said.
He snorted. “You will stay on my arm until such a time as I release you,” he told me. “At that point, I expect you to move through the crowd and be charming. Is that understood?”
I frowned. “Reister, it is my int
ention to support you as your wife, of course. But I must say, I’m very tired. I’m sure Mother Tora is as well. Perhaps after making an appearance, we might both be allowed to retire?”
Mother Tora’s eyes bored into me. “I’m not the least bit tired,” she said sharply. She turned to Reister and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ve no intention of retiring early.”
“And neither will you,” Reister said to me, his cheeks flushing small red circles again. I knew it meant he was furious, but the thought of staying at this ball all night was more than I could face.
“Please, Reister, I don’t understand. Why is it suddenly so important that I be here, at court? I can see why attending the coronation was expected, but considering the stir I made… for which I’m very sorry… you know the damage is done, now. Surely it would be best if I disappeared? Won’t they forget me more quickly that way?”
Reister stared at me, dark blue eyes glittering, mouth closed and tense.
“Now, Myadar, do stop talking nonsense,” Mother Tora said.
“Well, at least tell me how long you expect me to stay,” I said to Reister.
“Myadar, really. This is neither the time nor the place for such a conversation,” Mother Tora said. “This is a ball. There are hundreds of people for you to meet, and Reister must be the one to begin introducing you, of course. Go on now, my dears. It’s time to join the crowd.”
I studied Reister’s face as he took my hand and placed it on his forearm. He did not meet my gaze, and a muscle jumped in his cheek.
He hates me, I realized. On his visits to the estate, he had always been cold, but never quite this horrid. Why, then, did he ever marry me? And why, by the gods, did he summon me to court?
~~~
“Ah, Reister Sölbói’s mysterious wife,” said perhaps the fiftieth male courtier we met. They all said some variation of the same thing. It seemed my absence had been noted for some time, which must have made my arrival that much more noticeable. The courtier, who was probably my junior, wore the same black suit with tails as all the rest, a crisp white shirt with a high collar, and a wide cravat made of rose silk embossed with parallel lines that bent together in a step pyramid pattern.
The City Darkens (Raud Grima Book 1) Page 3
