“And what is that, Majesty?” Liut said.
An expression of dislike crossed her features—she no doubt thought it well hidden behind her mask—and she turned pointedly to me. “Is it true, Jarldis, that you ran off for the week and stayed at some estate with my sister?”
“True enough, majesty,” I said meekly, “although it was for love of Jarl Krigr that I went.”
I kept my mask tilted downward, gambling that they would not see the direction of my gaze behind it, and watched her expression. There was something disturbing, something hungry in it.
“And you remained with Jarl Krigr, exclusively?” she asked.
“She never left my side,” Liut said.
“I didn’t ask you,” Leika snapped.
I gave a nod. “Jarl Krigr speaks the truth, however, your highness. It was a week of—well, we had hidden our love for so long, highness, and to release all care for who might see—”
“Enough,” barked Eiflar. His wife curved her neck so she could whisper in his ear. After a moment, he said, “And you, Krigr. You’re to relinquish your claim on Jarldis Sölbói’s affections, immediately.”
“But Majesty—!” Liut cried, and I was quite impressed with his daring, and his commitment to upholding his end of the bargain he’d struck with Kolorma. It was no small risk to challenge the konunger, and in public, no less.
“Silence,” Eiflar said without heat. Liut shut his mouth. “Your affair is at an end, Krigr. So says your liege.”
“Yes, Majesty,” Liut responded. He dropped his hand from my waist, eyes lowered, and took one step away. All around us I could feel the minds racing, the whispers forming. What an evening for the court—our shocking entrance, Reister’s wrath, and now, the konunger’s censure. They would be talking about it for weeks.
As Liut drifted away, the konungdis’s eyes kept me pinned to the spot where I stood.
Eiflar-Konunger leaned in close, turning his mouth, unhindered by the half-mask he wore, to my ear. “You will receive a summons, Jarldis. Heed it.”
~~~
With all my self-discipline I resisted the urge to seek Kolorma out immediately. So soon! I had not planned for the konunger to summon me before we had time for planning and preparation. I was not ready.
Instead of searching for Kolorma I found a spot at the balcony railing and stared out over the metropolis, hoping that anyone who watched might assume I grieved for Liut. The mask I wore would hide my expression, for which I was grateful. The konunger had freed me from the need to dissemble with Liut on my arm—my face would show relief rather than sorrow, although without the mask I would have schooled it. I thought of Leika-Konungdis and resolved my own features to neutrality, at least—she hadn’t hidden her desire because she believed the mask protected her. Best I not make the same mistake of trusting porcelain and fabric’s density to hide my own face as well.
Had Leika’s face not been visible to me I might have questioned the motive for the summons. I might have feared that I was to be punished in some way unknown to me, as a court outsider. But I saw very well what her intention was; the hunger in her eyes was unmistakable, if disturbing.
I would be dissembling again soon enough.
Until my last assignation with Liut, every coupling we’d shared had been, for my part, an act of love. Before Liut I had, of course, known Reister’s bed, but it had never entered my thoughts to pretend in any part of the act. Now I would go to the royal bedchamber to satisfy the konungdis’s desire, at least—perhaps both of them, instead. I would have to find the will to behave in such a way as to fool them. The final time I met with Liut, rage had fueled me. I faced this new assignation without such a weapon, although I hated the konunger’s rule and his court.
When would the summons come? I did not know. Tonight? I was not ready—oh Gods, I was not ready; how would I find the strength to do what must be done? Dissembling to please them was not my only task. What if this opportunity did not come again? What if the Gods had handed me this one chance to kill Eiflar, tonight?
I clutched my own arms in my gloved hands, staring out unseeing over the lights that illuminated tall buildings in the city, over the smaller colorful ones that flickered, and the moving glow of the tram. I was no murderer, and even less did I want to sacrifice my life to this mission. If I tried to—what, stab him in his bed?—tonight, nothing and no one would be able to save me from execution, probably in the ensuing minutes after my crime, at the hands of the palace guards. And must I kill Leika, too? My thoughts strayed to Kolorma. How would she view the murderer of her sister? Leika was Kolorma’s blood, no matter that the allegiance Leika had chosen was so distasteful to Kolorma.
Sighing, I turned and leaned my back against the railing, resting my elbows on it. Despite my intention not to seek Kolorma out, I could not stop my eyes from searching the crowd for auburn hair and a burnt orange gown. Many courtiers glanced over at me, I noted. Many whispers passed behind gloved hands. Most of them stood too far away from my special insight behind their masks; sometimes someone passed within two feet and the science Spraki had bestowed upon it functioned to show me faces. Why did I not see past flesh and bone, as well? Was this near-magic simply too weak? No matter the reason, I was grateful. I had enough horrors to see in my nightmares without adding the skulls and blood of Helésey’s courtiers.
Despite the void at my back, I began to feel enclosed by all the whispers and the stares. Without masks the courtiers did little to attenuate their attentions to the scandalous—I knew that well enough from my mistake with the coronation gown—but now they took advantage of their disguises to watch me all the more openly, as if even without my own mask’s science I could not tell which way their eyes were pointed.
It was all too much. I felt drained from my encounter with Reister and even more so from the looming threat of the konunger’s summons. I needed to be alone. All I wanted was my son in my arms again, and to flee this wretched mirror of Hel once and for all—I would spend the rest of my days with Bersi in some sundrenched southern country and forget this place forever. But to achieve that goal I needed Kolorma’s help, and she had made her terms quite clear. By our hands, Eiflar and High Vigja Galmr must die. Had it really been I who said these murders would not be enough? Had the requirement of a revolution really come from me? My blood had cooled since then.
And yet… as my eyes traveled over the masked faces, ever seeking auburn hair, the face of the starving boy in the Undergrunnsby rose in my mind’s eye again. Perhaps the deaths of Eiflar and Galmr would put an end to Tyr’s new order, but the Undergrunnsby with its miserable denizens would endure. And who could guarantee that some new ruler wouldn’t decide to carry out the extermination threatened since before I ever set foot in this rotten court?
Oh, I would see this palace torn down brick by brick if I could.
A flush spread in my cheeks at the thought, but my bare arms felt chilled in the night air. No longer could I stand this constant scrutiny—let them talk about me aloud once I was gone. Surely if I left the party I would only enhance my scandal, and steer them farther from dangerous connections to my true secrets.
I thrust myself from the railing and strode with purpose through the crowd. I had no difficulty in doing so; they parted for me like mist. Once in an interior corridor I hesitated—most of the the palace remained unfamiliar to me and I had never been on this side of it before. A robot stood at attention by the high doors to the outside. I asked for directions to the Sölbói apartments and he gave them to me without a pause. Soon enough I was hurrying down hallways lit by cold, bluish-white, triangular sconces, my heels echoing on the marble tile that formed arrows in their regular designs; arrows that pointed upwards and downwards, depending on how you looked at them. I focused in such a way as to make them point down.
~~~
The summons did not come that night, which was both a surprise and a relief. The next day when I rose for the morning meal—no longer must I pretend having no appetite, n
ow that Reister knew everything I might have to hide—Sveinn delivered a silver tray almost overflowing with invitations to the table.
Infamy had made me popular.
I flipped through them quickly, finding among them a note sealed with no family device, which I pocketed. After that I took more care, and had just enough time to sort through the first half dozen again, as I sipped my tea and dipped toasted biscuit into my egg, when Mother Tora swept into the dining room. She stopped short when she saw me, and then her eyes traveled to the pile of white cards.
I waited.
Her eye brows arched as she shifted her gaze from the cards, to me, and back again.
“Anything from the konunger?” she asked at last. So Reister had kept her informed.
“I don’t know yet,” I said, and recommenced my sorting.
“Sveinn, tea and a toasted biscuit,” she said, seating herself at her usual spot at the foot of the table.
“Is Reister still abed?” I asked.
“As far as I know, Reister never came home last night,” she answered.
“Nothing from the konunger,” I said as I set down the last of the cards.
How much could I trust her, or Reister, for that matter? They were meadow vipers, both of them, and I must never forget that. But we did share a common goal.
Sveinn arrived with her biscuit and tea. As he poured she eyed me, fiddling with a butter knife. I did not return her gaze, although I felt it upon me.
A common goal, yes, and I believed that Reister’s desire for revenge and for a change in rule outweighed any advantage he might gain in turning me in; after all, unless I was mistaken, he had planned all along to send me to Eiflar’s bed as a one might send a gift of poisoned honey to a bear.
“How did you plan to force my hand?” I asked.
I glanced, then, at Mother Tora’s face—she stared at me, the knife frozen in her fingers.
“You must have had some plan, and you couldn’t have known I would choose the course of action for myself,” I said, ever careful not to name the details.
The knife began to spin between the pads of her fingers again, tip lodged in the tablecloth. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, her eyes slipping away to gaze at some unfixed point across the room.
“Nonsense,” I said. “Don’t attempt to dissemble now, or I shall have to think our purposes do not ally so well as I hoped.”
Beyond the dining room, I heard the door of the apartments open.
“Ah, Reister,” Mother Tora said, relief evident. I arched my eyebrows and began flipping through the invitations again. So Mother Tora did not trust me; I supposed such was to be expected. How surprised she must have been, when Reister gave her an account of last night’s interview with me. I regretted that I had not seen her face.
Reister entered the dining room and paused in the doorway, taking in the scene.
“Good morning, dear husband,” I said without raising my eyes from the cards.
He grunted and walked straight through to the kitchen doorway. “Sveinn, tea and an egg.”
When he turned back to the table, his eyes locked on me—I could feel their intensity. “Have you heard from…?” he let the question trail.
“Nothing from the konunger,” I said, although I felt the weight of the unidentified note growing in the pocket of my dressing gown with each passing moment.
“And these…?” He gestured to the pile.
“It seems I was missed.”
He gave a nod. “You’ll attend one tonight, I suppose?”
“Of course.”
He seemed almost tentative, in the way he spoke to me. This was a Reister I had never known. Realized he’d underestimated me, had he? And now he didn’t know what to make of me, I supposed. I enjoyed this for a moment, and then stood and excused myself.
~~~
The note was from Kolorma, I was certain, although she hadn’t signed it, and all it contained was a time and a room, much like the notes I used to receive from Liut. For a moment I wondered if it had in fact come from him, but the writing didn’t match his hand.
I left the Sölbói apartments making no attempt to avoid being observed. My movements would be much freer now that Reister and Mother Tora knew what I was about. I wondered if they understood my motives—they could not know I meant to destroy the entire court if the opportunity allowed, of course. Did they comprehend why I would voluntarily commit regicide? Did they believe me loyal to Reister, wishing to enact his revenge for him? I doubted either of them could be so foolish. No wonder Mother Tora did not trust me. She must question what could possibly propel me to such lengths.
I reached the door of the private room in a matter of moments; it was not far from my apartments. I let myself in, finding Kolorma, dressed in a black and olive green frock, waiting there already.
“Thank the Gods,” I said when I saw her. “I thought I would have to go to them before I could talk to you. I don’t know what to do!”
Her eyes narrowed and she straightened—for she had been leaning against the wall. A gray velvet settee stood to the left and I motioned her to it.
“What do you mean, ‘go to them’?” she asked as she sat. “They haven’t summoned you already?”
I nodded, eyebrows raised. “Well, not exactly,” I amended. “The konunger warned me to be ready for a summons. I don’t suppose he’ll wait very long. But it appears to me to be your sister who desires the assignation, in truth.”
Kolorma’s face darkened. “I should have known,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
Shaking her head, she gave me a dismissive wave. “It’s not important—only, know that Leika will tire of you almost immediately.”
Stung, I found no response to that. Is that what happened, in those confusing hours in Liten’s estate? Had she wanted me, and then grown bored?
“You must seduce Eiflar if you hope to maintain a liaison,” she continued.
“Should I not carry out our plans as soon as possible, then?” I managed, setting aside my tangled feelings.
Kolorma gave her head a firm shake. “Indeed not. We are not ready. It would not do to be too hasty. All our pieces are not yet in place.”
I nodded. Whether or not strength could be found for a revolution among the denizens in the Undergrunnsby remained to be seen, but even if that avenue never opened, it would not benefit anyone for Eiflar to die and Galmr to live.
“We must have all in readiness so that every element falls into place at its best moment,” she said. “You with the konunger, me with my… quarry.”
“What of the third prong of our pitch fork?”
“You must speak with Spraki about that, soon. Perhaps tomorrow.”
“Spraki? The last place we saw him?”
“Yes,” she said. She gave me an assessing look. “Do you have the stomach for it?”
“Which part?”
A smile stole onto her face at my obvious unease. “I might have guessed,” she said. “You’re so unlike us, who have grown to adulthood in this court.” To my shock, she slipped her hand around mine and gave it a little squeeze. “Courage, Myadar. I shall send you a little gift before night.”
She stood and gave me one more long look. I was still so surprised by her gesture, I dared not speak or move until the door closed behind her. Perhaps all my snarled emotions had confused a simple matter. Perhaps, after all, she was simply my friend. I could not deny that friendship was a rare treasure to be had in Helésey. I would endeavor to treat it with the reverence it deserved, and cease with strange anxieties and desires.
~~~
As I handed my acceptance to the invitation to the Asleifers’ soirée as well as my polite refusals to all the rest to Sveinn sometime later, the robot gave me his usual bow and offered me a small paper-wrapped box in exchange.
“Who sent this?” I asked him.
“I do not know, Jarldis,” Sveinn said. “A robot messenger delivered it. Do you wish for me to analyze th
e contents before you look at them?”
I waved him away. “No, thank you, Sveinn.”
Taking the small box with me into my room, after a moment’s hesitation, I retreated all the way into the bathroom, where I leaned on the edge of the counter and unwrapped the little gift.
A small piece of folded paper lay on top of a dark brown glass bottle smaller than the perfumes that stood in a group on one end of the bathroom counter. I set the box with the bottle still in it down beside me and opened the paper.
“This will make tonight easier,” I read aloud.
No signature, of course, but I recognized Kolorma’s handwriting from this morning’s anonymous invitation. Using a match I lit a votive and set it in the sink, burning the little paper. I should do the same with all future messages, as well as this morning’s note, I decided. I found the latter in the pocket of my dressing gown and held it to the flame. Soon enough nothing but ashes remained to flush down the sink.
The brown glass bottle lay nestled in a swatch of silk. I plucked the bottle out and uncorked it, sniffing the stopper. It smelled sweet, faintly of roses.
Some chemist’s potion, I surmised. I knew of remedies for sore throats, headaches, and upset stomachs, and had even used them on occasion in Söllund to sooth Bersi when he was ill. And Liten had given me laudanum for my pain and to help me sleep. Kolorma credited Liten’s medicine with the fast healing of my injuries as well as Liut’s; perhaps this was another of Liten’s miraculous inventions. I sniffed the opening of the bottle, smelling again the sweet, weak scent of roses. I would trust Kolorma in this, for I could use all the help I could get.
Soon it was time to dress for the soirée. I selected a new blue dress with long strings of tiny beads in place of sleeves, patent leather pumps, and soft cream-colored gloves. No one checked on me now that Mother Tora had given up her role as my warden. I painted my face with care and pinned a headband of strings of blue beads that wove together to create a kind of wide lace. Satisfied, I made my way out of my room. To my surprise, Reister waited for me in the entry room.
The City Darkens (Raud Grima Book 1) Page 27
