Akiniwazisaga: The Inheritance Thieves

by M. D. Boncher

  “Now, I know you jest with me, dear Grevinne!” Admiral Sverirsson gave an uneasy laugh to relieve tension. This line of thought drifted too close to sedition for his tastes. “Comparing our dear Tign, Gregor, to Old Cruim. It was fortunate his Uncle Hrollief still lived in those days and had a fertile wife. They were God’s provision.”

  “Eventual wife, you mean,” the woman said in a manner that almost slid by Admiral Sverirsson.

  “I beg pardon? What do you mean?”

  “Oh, that the young fertile bride of Hrollief’s was his second wife, hastily married after becoming Visekonge. His first wife was tragically gathered unto heaven during their move to the Kronapalasset.”

  “No!” the admiral choked. He was not quite aware of the Crown’s less celebrated history.

  “Oj, jah! It was considered among the jarls of the era to be a blessing in disguise. Hrollief’s reputation for philandering was an open secret and yielded a willing and acceptable bride without much fuss.”

  “Are you implying that Hrollief’s first wife was…?”

  The woman nodded.

  “And his second…?” Admiral Sverirsson chuckled at the audacity of the claim. The implications of an illegitimate lineage for the last eight Visekonges seemed an absurd jest.

  “It seems the hand of God is as mischievous as it is mysterious,” the woman said.

  “Now, I know you are playing with fanciful visions, my dear Grevinne.”

  Mirjam could feel the catlike smile cross the woman’s face. There was something in this woman she had begun to like. They seemed to share the same playful instinct.

  “I like her,” whispered Mirjam.

  “Like who? Can we go yet?” Solveig retorted softly.

  “Not yet, they are still blocking the way,” Mirjam muttered.

  Below the troubadours were gathering for another set of music. It would soon be impossible to hear more.

  The woman gave a deep sigh. “Jah, I was playing with fanciful thoughts for our amusement, my dear Admiral Sverirsson,” her words like ice in a cauldron, killing the simmering thoughts. “If only the jarls had a Visekonge that was not so… willful and would listen to the reasoning of others? A younger head under the Crown willing to listen to more experienced men.”

  Something deep in Mirjam recoiled from the words. It snapped at the ideas like an angry guard dog.

  “That would make things easier for the military.” Was the Admiral playing along with the game she had set before him? A drunken fool? Or was he under her charm? Mirjam wondered.

  “Just think if young Olivr was the Tronerving! We would be doomed.”

  The admiral sneered at the mention of the youngest Kronasonn. Mirjam’s knuckles on the door handle were white and clenched.

  “That is why they made Cruim’s Law. You must be of strong mind as well as body. Cruim was neither, but he was blood. Thank God his line ended the way it did, allowing for a new branch to be grafted onto the old stump,” the woman’s words delicate as spider silk.

  “I must say that is quite a diplomatic way of putting it,” the admiral responded.

  Music rose as the next course was now ready. There was a stirring as the guests began to return. Across the hall, the east side balcony door opened and a servant ran through the shadows, likely in a frantic search for the girls. It was best to be seen entering the crowd rather than crouching at this door.

  “Mirjam!” Solveig moaned as she watched the page who would be on their balcony shortly. “Mother will cane us if we are caught here.”

  It was now or never. Mirjam, took a deep breath and pulled the door open wide enough to squeeze through, Solveig close on her heels.

  The balcony was empty, startling the girls. Then they saw the crowd descending the grand stairs. Mirjam watched the admiral as he made his shaky way down with a tight hold on the railing. Her eyes scanned the crowd for the dove gray gown with the Asbjornaettir sash.

  She spotted the woman halfway down the steps.

  As if tapped on the shoulder to look up, the woman in dove grey saw the two daughters as she descended the stairs. There was a click of recognition, then understanding, as she looked into Mirjam’s eyes. There was no doubt. The Asbjornaettir courtier divined that everything she said to the admiral had been overheard. Mirjam’s heart stopped as she felt in the spirit what had just happened between the two of them the instant their eyes touched.

  Lendmann Mother Ulla Mogrensdottir Asbjornaettir gave Mirjam a glare that could have frozen the sun. With a subtle gesture, the pale blond woman raised a white gloved finger alongside her nose as she descended and tapped it twice.

  A threat.

  A threat that not even a Kronadottir was safe from. For the first time that Mirjam could recall, she felt her life was in jeopardy. Something sinister had played out, and she was now a piece on the lethal chessboard of Statsraad politics.

  Perhaps this was one joke she should never have played.

  17. An Unsettling & Imprudent Introduction

  “I knew you two would turn up once the dainties came out,” the Visedronning said to her daughters’ backs.

  She caught them at the smorgasbord, loading up their plates with treats. Mirjam’s mouth was already full of soft molasses kex. Out of the corner of her eye, Solveig was frozen in mid bite, eyes squinting ever so slightly in dread. On the Hird dais, the Visekonge laughed at a joke, oblivious to the confrontation about to begin between his wife and daughters. Guests swirled around them and, like a hungry school of fish, the courtiers picked at the smorgasbord before flitting away.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded with that precise timbre that made the girls cringe.

  The Visedronning’s daughters turned around and unintentionally mirrored each other, smiles bolted on their faces. Their mother’s glare, a reaction to the assumed mockery, burned holes through them.

  “Happy Klarrvatn, my Tign,” Solveig said with a curtsy that barely met the minimum of proper decorum. The Visedronning’s spectacular green eyes narrowed at her eldest daughter, and she arced an elegant eyebrow in reply.

  “We were on the portico enjoying the night air, my Tign,” Mirjam said in a cookie-crumb flecked explanation. Something no one else in the Union would have dared.

  “I see,” their mother said. Mirjam began to worry with the brevity of the response.

  “Jah, my Tign,” Mirjam swallowed. “We were hot and needed to step outside. You know how stuffy the hall can get with this many people,” she added, embellishing the story a little more.

  The Visedronning silenced Mirjam with a disinterested flick of her hand.

  “Solveig, I have been asked to introduce you to someone,” the Visedronning announced, switching to her official voice of Crown diplomacy.

  Solveig handed the half eaten morsel over to Mirjam. Relieved to no longer be the target of their mother’s ire, the twin stuffed the rest of the little tart in her mouth.

  “Jah, my Tign. I would be delighted,” Solveig said.

  “Allow me to present the Lendmann Mother, Ulla Mogrensdottir av Heilegevagn in Neezhodayland.” The Lendmann Mother stepped forward from behind the Visedronning and gave a deep curtsy to the Kronadottirs.

  The Lendmann Mother seemed to materialize out of the crowd like a manitou from the mist and stand next to the Visedronning. Mirjam’s blood froze as she saw the dove gray gown with the scarlet and yellow sash.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you,” the Lendmann Mother gushed. “I so wanted to finally see the daughter of our blessed Visekonge!” Solveig blushed at the words while Mirjam fought to keep a gracious smile stuck to her lips. “To have twin daughters so beautiful is a blessing for any man, particularly a member of the Hird. I cannot recall the last time the peerage was so blessed, though I am sure it must have been.”

  “As you can see,” the Visedronning added, “the Grevinne is a historian. Full of interesting lore.”

  The Lendmann Mother gave a bashful smile at the compliment. “I dabble in knowing the F
orsamling’s past. In my position, it helps me understand what makes people do what they do.”

  “What do you see in me?” Solveig asked, enjoying the compliments.

  “I can see that you, my Tign, are a young woman of quality. Excellent in body and mind.”

  Mirjam could see Solveig liked this woman, and she, too, was impressed with how appealing the Lendmann Mother was. Were it not for the conversation overheard on the balcony, she could envision them as excellent friends.

  “Thank you, Grevinne. I appreciate the compliment.”

  Mirjam could feel something deeper happening. An undercurrent pulled at her mind, but she could not understand why.

  “What do you see with me, my Grevinne?” Mirjam intruded.

  She instantly regretted it. Those lightning blue eyes flashed as they turned on Mirjam and the high heat of the Lendmann Mother’s personality came to bear.

  “It is said the younger twin is like a mirror image of the elder. Equal in most ways, but often weaker. The dexterous hand versus the sinister.”

  There was something subtly obnoxious in the Grevinne’s manner that scratched at Mirjam’s psyche like claws looking for purchase on stone. Was the dissection of her character intended to be offensive? Perhaps this was some sort of insulting test, and that riled her rebellious spirit. Rubbing her fingers clean of sugar and crumbs, Mirjam gave the Lendmann Mother her shrewdest smirk.

  “To be truthful, Mother considers me too spirited to be a high quality mind. What was the phrase you used last week, my Tign? Oh, jah. I have a singularly cunning and frustrating intellect.”

  An invisible spark snapped in the air between mother and daughter. There was a brush of tickling feathers on the back of Mirjam’s neck. A thrill of gooseflesh ran down her spine, and the Lendmann Mother flinched as if an ant had bitten her toe.

  The Visedronning blanched at Mirjam’s use of her private words to publicly shame her. Solveig seemed lost in her own thoughts.

  The Lendmann Mother laughed. It was lyrical with no hint of falsehood.

  “What a refreshingly irreverent child!” the Lendmann Mother exclaimed. “I do so like a woman brave enough to speak her own mind, fearless with the truth.”

  This was not the reaction Mirjam expected. What a strange response. She had just revealed her mother’s belief that her daughter was of deceptive and obstinate character. What fascinated Mirjam more was that this unusual confrontation seemed to be transpiring beneath the notice of her mother and Solveig.

  “My Tign,” the Lendmann Mother Ulla said to her monarch, “I would absolutely adore the chance to spend more time with your daughters! They are positively charming, and perhaps I can instill in one a little temperance, and knowledge for the other.”

  “That is a very generous offer. Perhaps we can arrange that sometime soon,” the Visedronning agreed dreamily.

  “That would be most generous of you, my Tign. Perhaps Matilda, my daughter, would do well to spend time with them, too. I am sure they could teach each other many things,” the Lendmann Mother said touching the forearm of the Visedronning.

  Mirjam watched her mother sway to this woman’s influence. There was not even a hint of rebuke for touching the personage of the Crown’s consort! What power did this Lendmann Mother wield that could allow such a breach? Perhaps it was a good time to test a theory.

  “I do not know if that would be wise, Grevinne,” Mirjam said. “My father is not one for educating women. ‘A smart woman is a danger to a man’s home.” I think that was what he said.”

  The outlandish falsehood was a hot poker. Mirjam wondered if Mother would react accordingly? Again she felt that snap of an invisible spark. This time the Lendmann Mother twitched as if her hand had been pierced by a pin. Solveig looked at her sister as if freshly woken from a nap. Her mother’s glassy eyes became hard green marbles of fire. There was no way the Lendmann Mother could smooth this latest insult over with laughter. Mother was not going to settle down.

  “Mirjam,” the Visedronning hissed, unable to hide her fury at her daughter, “your father never said such things! To… to… to… invent such calumny is hardly prudent! In court no less!”

  It had been a long time since Mirjam made her mother so angry. She would probably regret this later, but thanks to the feast, her punishment would be postponed.

  “I thought you wanted me to be plain spoken, my Tign.” Mirjam acted apologetic and contrite on the outside, but inside she was rejoicing. The spell was broken again, and the atmosphere now so uncomfortable between the four, that the Grevinne did not seem able to find a way to cast another glamour with smooth words. Still, there was a chance more trouble was possible.

  “Mirjam Gregorsdottir…” The Visedronning was ready to banish her daughter to her chambers under guard.

  “Oh, that is quite all right, my Tign,” the Lendmann Mother said to the Visedronning. “I know she was just-”

  “Playing with fanciful ideas?” Mirjam interrupted, throwing the words spoken to the admiral back in the Grevinne’s face.

  The Lendmann Mother froze in shock. Mirjam could barely hide her joy as the threat hit its target. It was clear she never thought the girl had the courage to attempt such brinkmanship.

  “Of course,” Grevinne Mogrensdottir said, thunderstruck. “A fanciful lark.”

  There was an awkward silence as a strange, invisible weight seemed to lift off of the four women, and the Visedronning became aware of the crowd that had gathered around them. The courtiers had backed off from the quartet. Far enough to look interested in other things, but close enough to hear every word.

  “My Tign,” the Lendmann Mother said without looking, showing another discourtesy given to her distracted monarch. “I must say, your daughter does have a sharp intellect that you would do well to love and train. For your safety… as well as hers.”

  The threat did not go unnoticed by Mirjam.

  “Why thank you, Grevinne,” she replied with a taunting curtsy.

  “If you would excuse me, I would like to take my leave,” the Lendmann Mother said.

  “It is given, Grevinne. Good night,” the Visedronning said ignoring her.

  Mirjam watched her mother stare down a few courtiers she caught watching the confrontation. The girl was certain she was still in trouble but had no idea what to expect next. This would be a hard scandal to quash. No doubt the word had already spread beyond the walls of the Kronapalasset.

  “My Tign, did you have someone else to introduce me to?” Solveig asked, then added in a low grumble. “Perhaps my future husband?” She was desperate to change the subject, even if it was that odious task.

  “Jah, I have, if he is still here. Your father and I have been speaking with my third cousin, the Jarl Alvisaettir of Manitouland. He wishes your hand for his son,” their mother said, still surveying the court’s reaction.

  “Mother!” Solveig gasped, horrified at being married to such a close relation. Normally knowledge of potential suitors were kept secret from the court. There was too great a chance of causing unnecessary rivalries. Solveig’s words were like bracing cold water, snapping the Visedronning back to herself.

  “After what you two have done tonight, we will be lucky if only one scandal erupts. Mirjam, we will talk about your behavior later.”

  “Jah, my Tign,” Mirjam said, unsure how she should feel about it, but hoping that the entanglements of chaperoning Solveig’s meeting with the Alvisaettir’s jarlsonn would help her mother forget.

  “Solveig, come. Let us see if we can find your suitor.” Their mother quickly hooked arms with her eldest daughter and whisked her away into the crowd. Solveig gave her sister a worried glance who in return shrugged sympathetically and made the sign of the cross.

  A strange new awareness allowed Mirjam to feel the eyes of the court, judging her. Possibly fearing her. She took a few more molasses kex, bit into one and pondered what plot-filled web she had stumbled into.

  18. With Subtlety, a Brazen Scheme Is Discovered<
br />
  Like a horsefly he could not swat, worry gnawed at the back of Leif’s head through a haze of exhaustion. A few hours ago it seemed an easy task to finish preparations while the Klarrvatn guests were leaving. Then in the calm that followed he would slip out unnoticed, but nothing went as expected. Servants were underfoot everywhere he turned. His huskarls were unclear where to go when it was time to board the ship. Then came a knock on the door of Leif's chambers. The chaos around shuddered to a halt, and all eyes turned toward the vexing door.

  "Not now!" he shouted without thinking, rubbing his temple. How did Father and his stallare make this look easy?

  This was no time for a visitor. There was so much to do. Perhaps the visitor would go away after his angry bellow. Why had the guard not sent the visitor away? Silent seconds ticked by as everyone waited.

  Leif had no time for this aggravation.

  His father’s plan was simple in theory. Putting it into action was proving to be its achilles. The only real risk was in being discovered. Why was he worrying so much? For years he had desired to lead men on a great quest, and now he was about to do just that. He should be happy, excited. Proving himself in front of all men. Showing the world he was drengr… a real man of his own.

  The knock came again, more subdued than before, but insistent.

  "Deal with it," he said to a huskarl.

  "Jah, my Tign." The large and intimidating huskarl went toward the door and opened it only a little. That was enough for the intruder to burst past.

  "Leif!" a boy shouted. "Leif, Leif, Leif!"

  Olivr barged into the chamber. The sweet moon-faced boy with an infectious smile rushed his older brother, arms wide for a big hug. Leif grimaced at first sight of Olivr then forced a grin to his lips as the boy bowled into him like an excited puppy.

  "Oof!" Leif let out a gasp as he was driven backward. The two tumbled over onto the bed, Olivr laughing.

  “You are up way too late, Little Otter,” Leif said, calling his brother by his pet name.