“I’ve always liked those sorts of beads—are they walrus bone?” the other jarldis asked. She had darker blonde hair and gray eyes, and she was dressed in agate green velvet.
“I believe they are made from some sort of jasper,” I replied.
As the two of them tittered excitedly about beads and the properties of jasper the doors opened and the Fastulf robot intoned, “Their royal majesties, Eiflar-Konunger and his wife, Leika-Konungdis.”
My heart tightened. This was the moment—my actions in the next few minutes would determine whether Eiflar would ever see me alone again. If I failed to lure him to me, I would lose Kolorma’s guarantee of escape with Bersi. I could not allow that to happen. But my approach must be delicate. I knew instinctively that Eiflar would lose any interest in me at the first sign of desperation. No, I had to exploit what I knew of him, and of his relationship with Leika.
As they entered, everyone quieted. Leika, wearing her near-black hair in curls cascading over a wide headband of silver lamé encrusted with purple jewels and a gown to match, rested a hand on his arm, which the konunger held raised between them. Eiflar wore a more commonplace black suit, although his neck scarf matched his wife’s headband and gown. As they matched slowly into the main salon of the Fastulfs’ apartments, everyone bowed their heads. I did so as well, but mustering my courage, I turned my face to the side and caught Leika’s eyes with my own, then gave her a wink. I saw her fingers dig into Eiflar’s arm, and his step hesitated. He followed her shocked gaze to me.
After their entrance, the konunger and konungdis spoke quietly to Jarl and Jarldis Fastulf for a few moments and all the other guests resumed what they had been doing, including the two jarldises who stood with me. I excused myself and took my drink into the ballroom, making sure not to look towards the royal couple.
I leaned against the wall and watched the dancers and the band, holding my drink without sipping from it.
I felt the ripple in the crowd of guests as the konunger approached, and when he leaned into my ear, the shiver that traveled over my skin came from the touch of his breath on my neck rather than surprise. “May I have this dance?” he asked.
I turned and gave him my most seductive smile. “Of course, Majesty.”
As he took my hand, he murmured, “I do hope I shan’t bore you this time.”
“You never bored me, Majesty,” I said, and decided to gamble a bit. “Only the dance did.”
He raised his eyebrows at me. His blue eyes looked like a cat’s, their corners turned up at the outside. His blond hair glowed in the light, its pomade not thick enough to mask its color. He was a very handsome man.
“And now?” he asked as he led me in a whirl onto the floor.
“Now,” I said, “I am intrigued, Majesty.”
“You aren’t the only one,” he replied, a small line appearing between his brows. “You seem to have upset my wife, but she refuses to tell me how.”
So Leika hid what had transpired from him. “Far be it from me to betray the secrets of the konungdis,” I said, allowing the tiniest smirk to curl on my lips. Eiflar’s pupils narrowed sharply—he didn’t like that. I leaned in to speak in his ear. “Although I could be persuaded.”
“Persuaded,” he echoed, and I detected a slight thickening in his tone. I met his eyes again. The pupils had enlarged again. So he was considering what he could do to persuade me, just as I’d hoped. I smiled at him widely, and said no more. Nor did he; we danced until the music ended. He bowed to me and the guests watching hummed with whispered gossip.
Eiflar-Konunger straightened, and only his eyes moved, taking in the murmurs. His gaze rested on me again. “You cause a great deal of trouble, Jarldis Sölbói,” he said.
I lowered me eyes. “I would be greatly chagrined to think that any action of mine offended you, Majesty.”
I felt his eyes traveling over me. Did my beauty please him? It was not so rare as his wife’s, after all, but hadn’t I seen already that his wife was not enough to satisfy his appetite?
I had done all I could. It was up to him now.
The konunger and konungdis left shortly after, before dinner was served. The Fastulfs’ disappointment was evident, but everyone else seemed gleeful, enjoying all the speculation over why they had left and what part I had to play in it. I suffered through the dinner as those seated nearest to me did their best to hold conversations with me and each other that had nothing to do with my dance with the konunger or my summons from the Asleifers’ soirée, while simultaneously listening in to the conversations taking place beyond them so as not to miss what was said. On many occasions their coherence in speaking with me suffered; however I was not so much inconvenienced. I could hardly think of anything but whether what I had done and said had been enough, or too much, or too little to hook the konunger’s lust.
Before the end of the meal, my question was answered. The copper robot who had been announcing guests at the door appeared at my side with a tray bearing a note. I excused myself from the table to accept it. Following the robot into the main salon I opened it.
Come at once to the Purple Stairs.
A flush of triumph flooded me, followed by a dizzying sense of anticipation. I had him. And better still, everyone had seen the note. As I gave my apologies to the robot, to be passed on to the Fastulfs’, I pictured the reactions of the guests. The scandal of my week with Liut would pale by comparison with this. The konunger, summoning me in the middle of dinner to his chambers…
Of course, if he meant to have me arrested that would mean a scandal of a completely different kind.
The thought jarred me, but fear of that risk faded quickly. I doubted the konunger would summon me to the stairs to have me arrested, and I could hardly ignore a royal summons, no matter my fears. And once in the konunger’s bed chamber, if in fact that was my ultimate destination, I had better find a way to please him—without satisfying him.
Grabbing a glass with a bit of mead left in it on my way out of the Fastulfs’ apartments, I hurried through the corridors. Pausing just long enough to find the small brown bottle that I carried inside my glove, I drank the rest of the medicine and washed it down with the mead, tossing the glass against a wall. The sound of its explosion made my heartbeat race.
With no more delay I rushed to the Purple Stairs. The same gilded robot awaited among the same four royal guards. The robot led me up the velvet-covered staircase. My heart still hammered from the shattering of the glass; the run had no doubt added to its excitement.
I mustn’t tell him what happened with Leika. That was the key. He would no doubt attempt to “persuade” me, and while I must let him take his pleasure, I must refuse to reveal her secret. It was a dangerous gambit. If Eiflar decided I was being defiant, would he have me punished in truth?
The robot took me through the first salon into the corridor I’d been through with Leika. He did not stop at the door to the small viewing room, and as I passed I wondered if she would be in there, watching. Would she enjoy witnessing her husband have his way with me?
Large double doors made up the wall at the end of the corridor. The robot bowed as he pushed them open, then stood aside, his head angled downwards. I stepped through.
Eiflar stood in the room I’d seen through the mirror—huge bed all in shining satins, the marble table, tonight without its vase of flowers. The konunger had shed his jacket and scarf, wearing his white shirt and black trousers. His shoes, in black patent leather, picked up the dim light coming from the floor lamps in the corners. He watched me as I entered. I approached within four feet of him and bent to kneel before him, bowing my head. Behind me, I heard the door shut.
After a pause Eiflar closed the distance between us, pausing to stand within a foot of me. His fingers touched my chin and raised my face. The look in his eyes told me he enjoyed looking down at me. This was a man who desired domination above all else. If I resisted, gave him a bit of a challenge, perhaps he would want to try again, and again, until he h
ad me cowed. I parted my lips as I returned his stare, my breathing coming in shudders as I felt the warmth of the medicine I’d taken spreading through me.
He leaned forward and slipped a hand under my arm, lifting me up to stand. Once I was on my feet he circled behind me, just inches from me. I could feel his breath on my skin.
“Welcome, Jarldis,” he said.
“You must call me Myadar, Majesty,” I said. “I would so prefer it.”
He stopped moving, his mouth by my ear. “Myadar.”
“Yes,” I said, and a shudder passed through me.
“You are my subject, Myadar,” he whispered. “You must always call me ‘Majesty’, or perhaps ‘Sire,’ or ‘Highness.’”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“Good,” he said, no part of him touching me. “You take instruction. But that is not enough. You’ve insulted my wife. You must be disciplined.”
Another shudder shook my body, and it made me brush against him. “I never meant to insult her, majesty.”
“Oh no? Tell me, then. What did you do?”
“Surely your majesty knows I received an invitation last night,” I said, wanting very much to let myself drop back against him. But I didn’t dare.
“Yes,” he said.
I turned my face just enough to look at him out of the corner of my eyes. “If her majesty has not shared what transpired, I cannot be the one to do it, your highness.”
His eyes narrowed, but the pupils grew dark. He wanted me to resist him.
His hand slid across my belly and pulled me against his body, and my legs went weak.
“You will tell me anything I ask,” he growled into my ear.
I made no response, only let my breathing grow rapid as he cupped my breast with his other hand. He pushed me from him then and I almost stumbled, but he caught my arms and turned me to face him.
“What did you do?” he asked, releasing my arms.
By way of answer I raised my hands to my hair and unpinned the headband, pulling it off and tossing it aside, aware that he watched my body’s movements with hunger as I did.
He reached out and grabbed the strand of jasper beads and yanked, breaking them. Beads scattered across the floor. “Did I tell you to take off your hairband?” he hissed.
“No, Majesty,” I said, my eyes never leaving his. I held up an arm and slid off a bracelet, knowing he would take the gesture as both invitation and defiance. He grabbed the other arm and pulled off the other bracelet. As he did, his body pressed against mine, and I felt his arousal. I smiled at him.
With a growl of outrage he shoved me away, and I fell into the bed. I kicked off my shoes and scooted back further onto it, taking no care with how the hem of my dress rode up on my hips. Eiflar’s cheeks reddened and jaw loosened. His eyes were locked onto my body. He approached the bed slowly, unbuttoning his shirt and tugging it off, revealing a sculpted chest. His hands found the buttons at his waist and soon he’d shed his trousers as well, and the konunger of Ódalnord stood before me, unclothed.
“I’ll make you mine,” he said, swallowing, and it reminded me of Leika. They both tried to possess those they would bed—and I must not let him think he’d succeeded. But this thought faded quickly as the warmth of my flesh called to his, aching desire rising in me.
He climbed onto the bed and began yanking at my gown—I helped him pass it over my head as well as my undergarments. As I began to fiddle with the garter that held up my hose he grabbed my hand.
“Leave it,” he said roughly.
His hands ran over my legs roughly, the fingers catching on the hose, and pushed my legs apart, positioning himself between them. My chest heaved as I watched him, and he stared at my breasts, then ran his hands from my hips, over my sides, to grasp them.
“Tell me what you did,” he said as he leaned against me, his thumbs stroking my breasts, his erection pressing against the outside of my nether lips.
I looked into his eyes, darkened with lust, and whispered, “No.”
I gasped as he penetrated me with one hard thrust, and then again and again as he moved inside me, harder and faster with each breath. He was panting now, his eyes fixed on me, his hands moving up to bury themselves in my hair even as his hips still worked and he went deeper.
I rotated my hips in a swift move and his breathing caught. Even as he groaned I felt my own climax crest as I kept the rotation going. As he spent himself I cried out, my body arcing against his weight.
He shuddered and went loose, burying his face in my neck. He remained that way only for a moment, but in that instant I felt a vulnerability I would not have suspected.
I knew then it would not be easy when the time came to kill him.
Part 5: Myadar’s Mask
Summons came for me almost nightly; Kolorma could not keep me supplied with the elixir. It didn’t matter—I had become Eiflar’s lover with its aid, and some of its influence lingered despite its absence, despite how many weeks had passed. It was over a month since I had returned to Helésey.
Leika was never there, and I suspected she might not even be watching. More than once Eiflar drew the bed curtains. Perhaps he feared she might be spying and wanted to ensure she did not see us. This struck me as significant.
At every assignation the konunger tried to wrest the truth from me about the night I’d visited Leika in the small room on the other side of the mirror. I resisted him. I no longer needed the secret to engage him, for I was certain that he liked me enough without it, but I continued to withhold the answer just in case. Each time we coupled a moment came when I glimpsed his vulnerability. I guessed at its meaning; Eiflar-Konunger was a desperately lonely soul. He pushed himself every second of every minute to maintain his front of power and authority, but when the instant came between release and recovery, his façade cracked. He allowed himself a breath or two without pushing, without his iron strength. Those moments struck my heart.
It made me think of Bersi. Eiflar, too, had once been nurtured by a mother. How he must miss her—even as a grown man, how much he must still need her. And I must murder him.
One night after our joining, Eiflar spoke, as he had begun to do, of his plans. I knew that no matter my scruples, the deed would have to be done.
“Galmr has had a great vision,” he said, leaning on propped pillows and toying with my hair as I rested my head on his chest. At this angle, he could not see my face, for which I was grateful. I could school my expression, but I feared I still would not show the beatific faith he expected when he spoke of Galmr’s visions.
“How wonderful, Sire,” I breathed.
“I think he had been worrying about the Dísablót,” Eiflar said.
I rolled over so I could face him then, resting the other cheek on his chest. “I wondered about that, as well, Majesty.” The festival to the old goddesses would soon be upon us. It had always been of such import throughout the nation; I had wondered what Eiflar and Galmr would do to avoid provoking the masses. Would they disavow it somehow? How would they enforce a ban?
“You know how commoners are, Myadar, clinging to superstition. Now that we’re at war with three provinces it’s all the more essential that our allies remain loyal. But Tyr has spoken to Galmr.” Eiflar’s face glowed when he said this. One could never claim that Eiflar did not truly believe in the new faith. “Tyr showed him—and of course, it’s so obvious! We must celebrate and sacrifice to Tyr, to ensure victory in the Great Conversion and a bountiful year. No longer shall the holiday be known as Dísablót, Myadar. Tyr has spoken to Galmr. We shall name it Tyrablót.”
“Tyrablót,” I repeated.
“Yes,” he said, gazing upward at the fabric that stretched, taut, to each corner of the bed posts above us. “I’ve been concerned…” His voice trailed off. I dared not speak, hoping he might finish his thought. “No matter,” he said instead. “All shall be well, now.”
“Is there anything I can do to ease your worries, Sire?” I asked, still hoping to gain more kno
wledge.
Eiflar grinned at me, and put my hand on his stiff phallus.
~~~
“I’ll wager I know what it is he’s been worried about,” Kolorma said when I met with her the following day in one of the Sölbói private rooms.
I had been pacing, chewing on my thumbnail, disturbed by this “Tyrablót.” I didn’t like the sound of it. Not at all. “Oh?” I said. “What do you think it is?”
Kolorma reclined on the settee, legs tucked up next to her, the airy linen fabric of her dress resting like a white cloud on her body. It dipped in folds at her waist, revealing just a corner of the tiny double-triangle tattoo on her lower back when she shifted. A dangerous dress to wear, I noted. That tattoo revealed her devotion to Frigga.
She seemed unaware of it. “He’s anxious for an heir,” she answered me. “Leika has yet to conceive. He’s afraid she’s barren; I’m certain he is.”
Kolorma popped open her handbag and rummaged in it, finally producing a silver cigarette case and lighter. I took the lighter from her as she fumbled with the case. Giving me a quick glance by way of thanks she snapped open the case and plucked her walrus-bone cigarette holder and a clove from it. I lit the end as she inhaled, allowing my eyes to rest on her face longer than I usually would. Looking at her soothed me in a way nothing else lately did. I wondered if I had imagined the tension between us in the bathroom at Liten’s—in the end it made no difference. Kolorma showed no signs of remembering it.
“I’m concerned about what Eiflar said about ‘celebration and sacrifice,’” I whispered before I straightened, always wary of the possibility that someone spied on us.
“It’s all of a piece,” Kolorma answered without whispering. She was not as concerned about someone listening as I, though her eyes were troubled. “In the old days, they made blood sacrifices to the Dis for good harvests and fertile wives.” Her eyes flicked to mine. “We must learn more, but I’ve a notion the size of the sacrifice will reflect the level of the people’s unrest, if you follow me.”
The City Darkens (Raud Grima Book 1) Page 30
