Leika crawled onto the settee next to me, her breath catching, her hand cupping my breast even as she pushed me to turn my back to her with the other. My blood thundered in my ears and my body burned far beyond her touch. I could not tear my eyes from the scene in the window. Eiflar had freed himself of his trousers and as he pushed Finnarún down before him, he seemed to relish the moment before he penetrated her. His eyes rose and met mine as he thrust in, and Finnarún’s own eyes widened. Leika squeezed my breast and slipped her other hand under the hem of my dress, stroking along my inner thigh ever higher until her fingers found the moisture that betrayed my arousal. As Eiflar pushed himself into Finnarún, and I watched her gasp with each thrust, Leika slipped her fingers inside me and mimicked her husband’s movements.
“There now,” she whispered, her shuddering breathing in my ear a sign of her own excitement. “There, there, my sweet. Watch as he does her—watch, she’s sure to climax any moment, for he owns her, you see—Eiflar takes a woman and owns her, always, just as I am taking you.”
Her words sent me over the edge, and I cried out as waves broke through me—it was bliss, but humiliation, too, and even as I rode the pleasure, I hated Leika.
More out of this hatred than desire I turned and faced her, forgetting the scene beyond, kissing her neck and running my own hands over her body. I would not be owned by her. I would show her that, at least. As my fingers found her tender flesh and I pushed a palm against the satin which still covered her sex, she panted and moaned. Her body was light as a bird’s, arms and legs thin and weightless, and I held her behind her back with one arm as my other hand pleasured her. For one moment I forgot my rage and hatred, and reveled in her beauty and abandon. And then it was over.
Leika pushed me away and stumbled back from the settee, blinking her eyes, her hand covering where I’d touched her, her eyes dark as night. “How dare you?” she breathed, and a flush grew in her cheeks.
“I only wished to serve,” I answered, lowering my eyes but allowing a smile to play on my lips.
“Leave now,” she snapped, and I inclined my head, taking a moment to straighten my gown before slipping out of the tiny room, through the corridor, and back out through the grand salon to the Purple Stairs. The robot waited, and I hardly glanced at him as he accompanied me the rest of the way.
~~~
“Let her tire of that,” I said to Kolorma the next day, after I described my triumph.
Leaning against the tan papered wall of a private room, Kolorma pressed her full lips together so tightly they thinned.
“Well? Surely you can’t think she was truly offended,” I said after a moment, shifting in the delicate chair I’d chosen for myself. “I gave her pleasure, I am certain of it.”
“You don’t understand,” Kolorma said after another moment. “I don’t doubt that you did, but Leika—” Kolorma gave a hollow laugh. “She’ll never forgive you for it.”
I stared at her. “You’re right, I don’t understand.”
“Leika likes control, Myadar. You took that from her. And Leika—she doesn’t like women; or at least she would never admit it.”
“But she told me herself that she has ‘enjoyed’ Finnarún for years.”
“Perhaps as part of pleasing the konunger, or perhaps she has enjoyed watching the konunger with Vaenn, but not for herself.”
Shaking my head, I grimaced, trying to make sense of her words. “Kolorma, I am certain the summons came from her, not the konunger.”
Kolorma held up a palm. “I don’t doubt that either,” she said.
“But then why—this makes no sense.”
“No, I imagine it doesn’t,” she muttered, looking down at her hands. After another pause in which I continued to wrestle with what she’d told me, Kolorma raised her dark eyes to mine. “You simply must believe me, Myadar. You’ve burned a bridge with Leika. You must rebuild a new one with Eiflar.”
An awful shiver of unease passed through me. How could I have erred so terribly?
“Perhaps the key is to use what happened,” Kolorma mused. “Perhaps if you were to tell Eiflar about your transgression…”
A thought washed over me. “He does enjoy punishing those he deems transgressors.”
Kolorma nodded. “And I’ve a sense my sister’s marriage is not so simple as it appears on the outside. I think it must be full of… struggle. Perhaps Eiflar will welcome a chance to use you against her.”
“Very well,” I said, and stood. “But this cannot go on indefinitely. We must make plans to move things forward. As soon as possible.”
“Much of that depends on you,” Kolorma said, and she was right. I planned to seek out Spraki in the Undergrunnsby when my interview with Kolorma was over, and it was also up to me to regain access to the konunger. The main challenge would be finding an opportunity to speak to him privately; without that, there was little chance of my receiving another summons.
“But not all of it does,” I reminded her. Kolorma had vowed to kill Galmr, and I knew not whether she had the means to do so by the time I took care of my end of things.
“Concern yourself with your own tasks,” she said in response.
I gave her a nod and left.
~~~
As I made my way out of the palace, I took care to stop frequently and check behind me. I felt grateful that I need not hide my comings and goings from Reister anymore, at least, but I had not forgotten that Liut followed me on the night of the robbery and that had Kolorma not captured him I might be in Grumflein or worse by now. It would not avail me to be so thoughtless anymore; I must remain vigilant.
I had selected my clothing with care—dark colors and matt fabrics, but nothing too severe, or that itself might have attracted attention. I wore a navy cloche that covered my honey hair and gloves on my hands—I hoped that when I passed I would be unremarkable to anyone who saw me. In addition, I carried a purse with a string of pearls in it as well as some of the coin I’d stolen from the courtiers. My first stop would be the Temple, in case there were eyes following me. Let them think I had the task of paying the Sölbói family’s tithe.
I accomplished this errand quickly enough, and I hurried on through the streets, stopping here and there, first to adjust the fingers of a glove, then to look at myself in a low window, and once again to fix my shoe. Each time I searched the faces I had passed as well as any behind me. No one followed.
After one such evaluation I made a sharp turn and came upon an entrance to the Undergrunnsby. With one last look around I descended.
I was not so confident, rushing along the sewers in my calf-length pleated skirt, heels echoing harshly, as I had been when I jogged through wearing Raud Gríma’s soft-soled boots and leather costume. The mask I missed most of all, for it hid the soft curves of my face. As myself, I was hardly formidable. As Raud Gríma, some saw me as a foot taller and wider than I really was.
It couldn’t be helped. Kolorma said Spraki had new tools for me, and I hoped that meant he’d applied the technology of the porcelain mask I’d worn at the ball to my red Raud Gríma mask. I dared not hope for more than that.
The sound of my footsteps grew louder with each passing moment in my hearing, and I felt certain some ruffian would appear out of the shadows at any moment to block my path. However, I continued on without incident. The machine belched smoke today, I noted, although it made none of the noises it sometimes did; I missed them, for they might have covered my footfalls.
Kolorma had given me no key, so I was reduced to banging on the weighty door. My leather-clad fist produced a low thudding that I feared would hardly carry to Spraki’s ears inside, especially if he was engaged in some engrossing project. Turning my back to the door, for I feared more than anything to have a hand clamp down on my shoulder, signaling attack from behind, I hammered the base of the door with my heel. This was far more effective, but it also caused sweat to break out along my forehead under the cloche and in the palms of my gloved hands. Surely Spraki was not
the only one who would hear the banging, and I thought of the shantytown that lay not far from here.
With a whine, the wheel on the door turned, and relief flooded me as the door itself opened. I entered.
“Jarldis Sölbói,” Spraki greeted me. He wore a white coat buttoned at the collar and along the diagonal of the shoulder, then down one side of his chest. His hands were covered in black rubber gloves. I had never seen the like, and they made my skin crawl. Buried in his tonic-shiny hair were goggles not unlike those I’d worn in Kolorma’s aeroplane. His face and white coat were smudged with what appeared to be soot, or perhaps some kind of black grease. “Follow me,” he said.
I did so, and he led me through the maze of standing panels covered in buttons, dials, and gauges until we stood again before the large wall and counter. In the wall the screens flickered, most showing scenes from the street and the palace.
“Do you watch us?” I asked.
Spraki gave the wall a startled look, as though only just noticing it now.
“Luka’s chains, no! I never pay those screens any mind,” he said as he opened doors in the front of the counter one by one. “Now where did I put that case?”
“Well then what are they for?”
“Oh, Dihauti used to watch them. And I suppose we’ll find a use for them again, especially if you’re successful with the uprising.”
I raised my eyebrows at him but he didn’t see, so engrossed was he in his search. Kolorma had certainly kept him abreast of things. Upon consideration I realized it was foolish to have expected anything else; after all, he had spent the last two days doing something or other to my Raud Gríma disguise. He had to be told why I would be wearing it in order to make it more useful to me.
“Aha!” he exclaimed, producing the case Kolorma had brought with her from Liten’s estate in order to deliver it to him. He set it on one of the few blank areas on the counter and opened it. My costume was inside. “Remarkable workmanship on this,” he said, pulling out the mask and leather hooded vest. “Where did you find it? Did you have it made?”
“I must have some secrets, mustn’t I?” I replied.
Spraki gave me a sour look but recovered almost instantly. “I’ve given the mask the same ability to see through nonliving matter, although I boosted it a bit so you should be able to do better than just peering through porcelain masks. I also made it optional, in a sense. To activate the ability, you must press down on this spot, here.” He pointed to a nub of embroidery by the outside corner of the right eye.
With an appreciative nod, I took the mask from his hands and turned it over. There were copper wires threaded through it and a thin mesh over the eyes that had not been there before. Here and there a kind of sequin was sewn into the fabric—still on the inside. These were not decorative.
“The vest I’ve reinforced to better protect you,” Spraki said. “You should be able to absorb a bullet or two, provided they hit the vest and not the britches.” He held up the latter. “Velvet is not nearly as nice to work with as leather. I’ve done what I can. They’ll do against the slice of a knife but not a direct stab, and they won’t hold up against bullets.”
“Thank you, Jarl,” I said, taking the britches from him and rubbing my hand over the soft fabric. I hardly felt a difference, although there was a resistance to it that had not existed before.
“I did nothing with the dagger—it’s already impressively sharp, don’t you think? But I thought perhaps you should have a second weapon, as well as some other tools.” He showed me a gun in a kind of harness. I slipped the straps in over my shoulders and the gun rested under my left arm. I slipped it off again as he displayed the rest of the tools in question.
“They all go in here,” Spraki said, showing me a black leather sack with shoulder straps.
I wanted to try everything on and wear it on my way back through the Undergrunnsby, but no alley would hide me well enough in daylight to change back into my court ensemble, so I regretfully put everything back in the case, snapping it shut.
“Thank you, Jarl,” I said again. “This will all prove very useful, I’ll wager.”
He gave me a nod. “Anything to make trouble for Eiflar and Galmr.”
~~~
As I returned to the palace I spotted a bevy of jarldises making their way from some cars parked in the courtyard in front of the side entrance to the Great Hall. Judging from the robots laden with packages, they had come from the Torc’s bazaar.
“I do wonder what will happen,” one nearest me was saying. “One doesn’t just stop honoring the Dis.”
Another frowned at her and shook her head, casting an eye my way. “You watch your tongue, or you’ll draw the wrong kind of attention with that talk.”
I considered what the first had said: One doesn’t just stop honoring the Dis. Sure enough, the Dísablót would normally take place in a matter of weeks; it was the holiday signaling the start of spring. Traditionally, farmers sacrificed to the Dis, the unnamed goddesses of the harvest and of peace, to ensure a good year. In the last century an additional tradition had developed. In each region of Ódalnord a huge festival organized by its jarl and jarldis took place, and everyone who could come would travel to attend it for several days. Many merchants and artisans depended on the festival to sell a large part of their stock—what would happen to Ódalnord’s economy without the Dísablót? For surely Galmr would not abide the holiday, as it was devoted to the Dis, and not to Tyr.
I joined the throng, moving past the two women who had been speaking to smile at one I thought I recognized from some dinner or other. These were not courtiers belonging to the most elite circles, but the woman recognized me. Flushing a bit, she leaned in to my ear.
“Jarldis Sölbói! I didn’t know you’d come along,”
I smiled, my eyes searching the crowd for a face that I could match a name to. After a moment I spotted one. “I met Jarldis Øringer at the Perle. Such lovely baubles there, wouldn’t you agree?”
The jarldis seemed quite overwhelmed. She began to babble somewhat incoherently about her search for a choker necklace in gems in some peculiar shade of rose. Even in my days of authority over the Söllund estate I had never inspired such anxiety. I became uneasy, wondering if it was only due to the notoriety following my absence from the court. Might Leika-Konungdis have made some declaration worsening my reputation? After all, the jarldis might be so panicked because she did not want to be seen speaking with me, rather than out of awe that she was.
I needn’t have worried. As soon as I took my leave I heard them whispering behind me. I slowed my pace to eavesdrop as much as possible before I had walked too far down the corridor.
“I didn’t notice her,” one said to the jarldis I’d been chatting with.
“She said she was at the Perle,” she replied. “I can hardly believe I didn’t notice her.”
“And you talked with her for at least five minutes! What did she say?” gasped another.
“She said she liked the baubles there,” the jarldis said after an awkward pause in which she must have realized she’d done almost all the talking.
“Did she!” the first said. “I shall have to go back tomorrow.”
I allowed my pace to accelerate again, but stopped short at the next thing I heard.
“Do you think she’s attending the Fastulfs’ soirée tonight?”
“Well, they say the konunger plans to attend, so what do you think?”
The Fastulfs. Very well, then.
I had not yet sorted through my invitations for the evening and the pile awaited me when I entered our apartments. Sveinn was busy dusting and I plucked the Fastulfs’ card from the stack and handed it to him. “Accept this one. Decline the rest.”
“At once, Jarldis,” he replied.
I spent the rest of the day in preparation. I bathed. I adorned my hair with a glittering band and my face with cosmetics, my throat with a necklace and forearms with bracelets. Then I spent quite some time deciding betwe
en three gowns. I thought the new blue one the most becoming, but I had worn it so recently for exactly that reason. I had a black one that was provocatively low-cut, and a cream-colored one that was new and slightly more form-fitting than the rest, although its neckline swooped from shoulder to shoulder, hardly so seductive as the black. In the end, I decided on the cream. Eiflar embraced Galmr’s strange ideas about women’s roles even as he carried out assignations while his wife watched… he had desires, yes, but he might not like to have them flaunted in front of him in the form of my black dress. Better to choose subtlety.
The Fastulfs had a grand apartment; I had seen it many times in the past few weeks, starting with the night that had taken me, on Liut’s arm, to the Dance Hall in the Lavsektor. Jarl Fastulf offered me a glass of mead as soon as I came through the doors and his copper-plated robot announced me. Accepting the golden glass I scanned the party quickly, but the konunger was nowhere in sight. Fastulf had a band playing in the next room where no doubt couples were dancing—no dissonant melodies here. The Fastulfs loved to dance, after all. I wondered how I would pass the time before the konunger came—if he came—when two jarldises swept to my side as though summoned. I nodded to each, attempting without success to remember their names.
“Oh, Jarldis Sölbói, is it true you bought that lovely string of beads at the Perle?” the one on my right asked. She had light blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and she wore a gown of satin that almost matched her eyes. She toyed with a strand of her own crystal beads as she spoke.
I glanced at the necklace to which she referred and almost said I didn’t recall—which was true—when I remembered my comment to the jarldis earlier that day. “Why yes,” I said, hoping that Liten’s shop carried beads like the opaque, yellowish ones I wore. It seemed I’d started a fashion and Liten would be the beneficiary. That pleased me—I owed him in part for my freedom and survival, after all. This would not repay him, but it was a start.
The City Darkens (Raud Grima Book 1) Page 29
