FORBIDDEN TALENTS

by Frankie Robertson

  Celia had accepted his betrothal, rather than seek them out. She’d chosen to stay with him rather than returning home to Midgard.

  Is she having second thoughts?

  He stared at her, appreciating her beauty, admiring the strength he knew was in her, wishing he knew how to breach the awkwardness between them. He opened his arms, not knowing what else to do.

  She came to him instantly, and he gathered her in.

  When she turned her face up to his, he kissed her forehead, her nose, and her lips. He’d never tasted anything so sweet. He bent and drew in the scent of her, all the while holding her tight. Her nearness satisfied something deep inside him even as it fed a new hunger.

  The heat that had kindled months ago was still there between them. It burned even hotter as Celia pulled him closer, her hands sliding up to his shoulders, her mouth seeking his. He’d planned to take it slow, give them time to know each other again, but apparently she had a different idea. And he didn’t mind one bit. Dahleven stroked his hands up and down her back, then resting them on her gently rounded hips to pull her against his growing erection. He liked the soft little moan she made as she arched into him. He kissed his way down her neck, tasting and savoring every inch.

  A knock sounded at the door. Dahleven allowed himself a small sigh of frustration. He stepped back a little but kept hold of her hand. “Enter,” he said at the same time as Celia. They glanced at each other and laughed.

  Thora, Celia’s maid, bustled in, keys jangling on the chain hanging from her plump waist. “You must ready yourself for the feast tonight, my lady.” The older woman looked Dahleven up and down with something less than approval. “And you as well, my lord.”

  Thora had served the family since he was a child and had spent some time chasing after him and Ragni when they were boys. Her chiding was familiar and he accepted it with a grin.

  “Do you think so?” He turned to Celia. “Why didn’t you tell me? What sort of wife will you make me if you won’t tell me when I stink like a muskrat three days dead?”

  Celia rewarded him with the smile he sought. “I was just getting around to it, my lord. Didn’t you notice me holding my nose?”

  *

  “Lord Dahleven Nevenson and Lady Celia Montrose!” a servant announced as the two of them entered the Dining Hall.

  Celia flinched inwardly. She hated being formally announced and hated being stared at. She was getting used to it, thanks to Gudrun’s lessons, but she still had to consciously lift her chin and adopt an attitude that she deserved her elevated position.

  Hand resting lightly on Dahleven’s arm, she entered the dining hall. Her gauzy, spring-green over-dress did little to enhance the modesty of the low bodice of her soft wool under-shift, which matched the forest green tunic Dahleven wore. Embroidered hawks flew wingtip to wingtip around her neckline and cuffs, declaring her status as a member of Neven’s household.

  She wished she could tug the neckline higher but settled for standing up straight to keep the shift’s neckline from gaping. She supposed that was the designer’s intent. Good posture made the most of her unsupported breasts. The conventions of clothing in Alfheim still made no sense to her. Everyday clothes were modest enough, but formal clothing often left women’s breasts nearly exposed while the hemlines swept the floors. The hiking shorts she’d been wearing when she’d arrived had scandalized servant and lord alike.

  The chamber wasn’t nearly as large as the cavernous hall that had hosted the Althing six months earlier. This was a much smaller assembly. Long, dark wood tables were arranged in a square with open corners. Chairs rather than benches were drawn up around the perimeter. Wide fireplaces blazed on either side of the room, taking the winter chill from the seamless stone floor. Celia had wondered at the vast expanses of smooth stone in Quartzholm until she’d been told they were the products of the long vanished Great Talents.

  Dahleven escorted her to a seat between his and Ragni’s at the head table. To their left, four massive chairs awaited Neven and Gudrun, Loloma and Nai’awika; beyond them, Dahleven’s older sister Ingirid and Father Wirmund occupied two of the four seats on the other end of the table. Though Ingirid wore the gray veil of mourning for her husband Jon, her smile was full and welcoming. Kaidlin, Dahleven’s younger sister, and Saeun, one of her ladies, sat at the end.

  Aenid, Ingirid’s daughter, sat to Ragni’s right. She also wore a veil of mourning, not only for her own father but for the father of her child as well. She rose to give Dahleven a hug.

  “Uncle Dahben! I heard you were back.”

  “How is little Kaleth?” Dahleven asked. Aenid had borne a daughter to Sorn, his oath-brother, barely six weeks past, and the Naming Day had taken place only three weeks ago.

  “She’s a wonder! And so strong! And hungry!” Aenid beamed.

  “Sorn would be very proud,” Dahleven said.

  “Proud?” Celia laughed. “He’d be crowing like a rooster.”

  Dahleven grinned. “That he would.”

  Aenid cast a sly smile at them both. “And teasing his sworn brother about when he, too, would prove his manhood.”

  Celia blushed. As heir to the Jarldom it was Dahleven’s duty to secure his family’s line. His mother had already started making pointed remarks. There was no shame connected to having a child outside of marriage here. Some would even see it as a good thing, a proof of a woman’s fertility. But she wasn’t ready to have a baby yet, and continued drinking the contraceptive tea Thora supplied. Dahleven was willing to wait, though he’d made it clear that he’d welcome having a child with her.

  “We’d best be seated,” Dahleven said, glancing around the room.

  The other chairs were filled by their Tewakwe guests and the high ranking lords and ladies who lived within a half-day’s journey of Quartzholm. Only the places reserved for Neven and Gudrun, Loloma, and Nai’awika remained empty.

  Ragni spoke from Celia’s right as she took her place. “You are lovely as ever, Celia. Too fair to sit in Dahl’s shadow.” He wore the gray of the priests of Baldur, in perpetual mourning while Baldur remained in Niflheim. His hand flirted over her upper arm, where she’d eventually wear his brother’s marriage bands, but he didn’t touch. “Come, switch with Aenid and sit on my right. Serve me as you did before.” Ragni’s easy grin leeched most of the sexual innuendo from his flirtation.

  She’d often served Ragni during family dinners while Dahleven had been away. He flirted outrageously with her, but he’d never stepped over the bounds of propriety, so Celia felt safe playing the game.

  “Should I trade the attention of two handsome men for only one?” she answered.

  Ragni’s reply was forestalled. Two servants in Kon Neven’s green suede livery blew a fanfare on brass horns. A third man announced, “Kon Neven and Lady Gudrun!”

  Everyone in the room rose as the Nuvinland leader and his lady proceeded to their chairs at a stately pace. They didn’t sit, but stood waiting as a shorter burst was played.

  “Nai’awika Kikmongsowuhti and Loloma Kikmongwi of the Butterfly Clan,” the man announced.

  Celia suppressed a smile. Neven had taken her advice seriously, giving Nai’awika precedence.

  The Tewakwe leaders entered. Their formal clothes were a combination of finely woven cloth of bright blue and flawless yellow suede, trimmed with delicate and intricate beadwork.

  Neven spoke formal words of greeting, using his Talent of Presence to draw the attention of everyone in the room. Celia paid him full heed, though she didn’t like his Talent any better now than she had six months ago. She knew Neven, knew he wanted the best for his people, but his Talent still smacked of mind-control, even though she’d never known him to use it that way.

  Neven poured wine into the goblet at the empty place to his left. “To our hosts, unseen but not forgotten.” He led the assembly in a silent salute, lifting his goblet and downing the contents. “Now eat your fill and slake your thirst. Be welcome to this House!” Neven withdrew hi
s Talent and took his seat, releasing the assembled guests to do the same.

  Loloma refilled his cup, and stood, interrupting the nascent buzz of conversation. “To our hosts, seen and unseen both, our gratitude for your bounty.” Lifting his cup in both hands, Loloma looked upward, and sang.

  “Grandmother we thank thee,

  Tiowa we thank thee.

  Our hearts are clear,

  Our kopavi open to your call.

  We honor those who guard the land

  And share its fruit.

  Hear us!

  Accept our thanks.

  Hear us!

  Accept our gifts.

  Hear us!”

  Loloma resumed his seat. Neven’s slight gesture brought the servants forward to begin serving the feast.

  Celia looked across the square of tables at the Tewakwe delegation. What did he mean by “those who guard the land?” The Katsinas? The Elves? Five months ago Loloma had told her the Katsinas might know of a way to send her home. At the same time he’d made it clear he thought it a bad idea. Tiowa had brought her here for a reason, he’d said.

  Five months ago she had fallen in love with Dahleven. At the time, that had seemed like the best reason in the world to stay. It still did—at least when he was around.

  She realized that Dahleven had spoken to her and turned to look at him. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I said, it’s a pleasure to dine by your side again. Or it would be, if you were present.”

  A servant bearing a tray laden with roast venison stopped in front of her, preempting a retort. Celia selected a portion first for Dahleven, feeling unexpectedly resentful of the Nuvinland custom even though she’d been serving Ragni at family dinners for months and it hadn’t bothered her.

  It only chafes now because Dahleven has been gone so long. That was all it was.

  CHAPTER THREE

  RAGNI SETTLED BACK in his chair as the skald strode into the center of the square formed by the tables. The meal had been excellent, and most of those close enough for him to read with his Talent were relaxed and content. Lady Celia was more curious than relaxed though, and his brother’s annoyance stung like ice crystals in a sharp wind. Both of them had looked often across the square of tables during the meal, their gaze drawn to the Tewakwe. Ragni suppressed a grin. Dahleven was jealous of Celia’s attention and wouldn’t admit it—to himself, or anyone else.

  His reserved older brother had fallen hard and quick five months ago. It wasn’t difficult to see why. Celia challenged Dahl; she wasn’t in awe of his position. Even more important, she lightened Dahl’s too-serious nature and made him laugh.

  But his brother wasn’t laughing now.

  Ragni supposed it was natural for Dahl to want Celia to attend only to him when he’d been gone so much, but in Ragni’s opinion that was exactly the problem. Dahl’s duties had kept him away too much. He’d overseen the closing of the Crystal Cavern and hunted down the last of Jorund’s Outcasts as well as seeing to his usual obligations as heir. And while he’d been gone, Celia had found her own way, settling into life here in Quartzholm, making her own friends and her own connections.

  Celia’s affection for Dahleven fizzed through Ragni’s brain. She was just the sort of woman Dahl needed. Independent, loving, and not always comfortable to live with.

  Thinking of love, Ragni’s glance strayed to Saeun, where she sat with his sister Kaidlin at the end of the table, too far away for his Empathy to sense her emotions. She smiled at something Kaidlin said. Saeun’s long hair flowed down her back, confined in a net of narrow braids. He wished he could work his fingers through it, loosening the strands until they flowed over her bare shoulders like a dark veil. He usually brushed her hair for her after their love-making. He hadn’t done that this afternoon. Instead, they’d argued about her fear.

  What had that been about? Why wouldn’t she share it with him?

  The entrance of Sangor pulled Ragni’s attention to the center of the room. The man sent by the Skald’s Guild to replace Eirik as the Kon’s skald was nothing like his skinny predecessor. Sangor was as round as an ale cask and his naturally resonant voice required no boost from Talent to command attention. His good nature had won him instant popularity, aided no doubt by his Long Watch Talent. He never tired of entertaining, and more than once he’d sung even the most die-hard of revelers to sleep. It’s amazing how much Sangor can learn from a tired drunk. He had quickly proved his worth, and his loyalty. Unlike the conniving Eirik.

  The skald bowed to Neven and Gudrun, then to their Tewakwe guests. “Kon Neven, Lady Gudrun, Kikmongsowuhti Nai’awika and Kikmongwi Loloma, Lords and Ladies. We have broken bread together—and delicious bread it was.” He rubbed his rounded belly as his audience laughed and shouted agreement. “Thus, we again affirm our friendship and cooperation.” He paused and assumed a more serious demeanor. “But it was not always so. Once suspicion and misunderstanding brought us close to enmity. Only by the sacrifice of brave warriors and the wise council of the gods did we turn aside from that profitless evil.”

  Sangor told the tale of how Tilskynde the Hasty attacked the first Tewakwe he saw and how he refused to honor the words of the priests who said the future depended on their friendship. It fell to his son Solmund to make peace with their neighbors. At first the Kikmongwi would not hear him, but eventually they met.

  “Boldly Solmund declared, ‘Though my father’s honor is his own to guard, I would undo the wrong that was done by him.’

  “The Kikmongwi shook his head. ‘The breath of those your father killed has flown upon the road to Maski. You can no more call them back than you can catch the wind in a basket.’

  “Again, wise Solmund fell silent and considered the dark mask of the Kikmongwi’s face while the words of the priests prodded him. ‘And yet the gods have spoken,’ he said at last. ‘There must be peace between us.’

  “‘That is so,’ the Kikmongwi said. ‘But there is a debt between our peoples.’

  “‘I would pay it. I have brought all that the gods have given me to pay weregild.’

  “The Kikmongwi looked at the thralls and the wealth Solmund had brought with him over the Great Wall and shook his head. ‘It is not enough.’”

  Ragni felt the stiffening of offended pride among the Nuvinlanders. This part of the story always brought the same reaction.

  “‘You have not yet seen the greatest part of my gift,’ the generous Solmund said, and he called for Manni, his young son, to be brought forward. Fair and round-cheeked was the child, and strong of limb. No man looked with greater joy upon a son than Solmund did on Manni. Yet he took the child and placed him in the Kikmongwi’s arms. ‘Raise my son as your own.’”

  Sangor paused dramatically, and Ragni felt the swelling pride of the Nuvinlanders and the satisfaction of the Tewakwe fill the silence.

  “The shaman looked upon the round-cheeked boy, then returned Solmund’s steadfast gaze. ‘We accept your gifts. Your debt is paid,’ the Kikmongwi said. ‘Now we will feast and offer thanks to the gods for turning us aside from anger.’

  “And so began the friendship between our two peoples, which has continued to this day,” Sangor concluded.

  *

  Saeun stomped her approval of Sangor’s tale along with the rest of the Nuvinlanders, while the Tewakwe yipped and yodeled. The skald bowed again. She’d always liked that story and its message of distant kinship. Sangor had told it well, too. He was quite different in style from Eirik, the skald that had held the post before him. She gathered that Eirik had disgraced himself, though no one talked much about it. His recent blindness alone wouldn’t have been enough to make him unfit as a story-teller, though some might think his lack of sight an ill omen with regard to his ability to interpret what the gods revealed by the runestones. She doubted he’d followed Odin’s example and given his sight in a search for wisdom.

  Loloma stood and lifted one of the strands of beads from his neck, holding it out to Sangor. “Thank
you for the gift of your telling. We must never forget the past.”

  “The roots of our friendship must be tended for the tree to flower,” Sangor answered. Stepping forward, he bowed to the Kikmongwi as the Tewakwe leader slipped the necklace over the skald’s head.

  Saeun glanced at Ragni. He had that slightly distant look in his eyes that he got when he was using his Talent. That would be part of his job tonight. She almost wished it weren’t, and that Empathy wasn’t his Talent. Then she wouldn’t have to come up with some explanation for the fear he’d felt in her. She would have to explain, and tell the truth. Ragni wouldn’t let it rest. Because he loved her he would demand to know what troubled her. And the truth would kill his love.

  He looked over at her and she startled. He frowned at that, but she knew she sat too far away for him to sense her feelings.

  What was she going to do? She never used to care if he combed through her heart and saw her love for him. But that was before she’d tried to scry their future. Thank the gods he couldn’t read her thoughts as well.

  Loloma smiled. “Will you gift us the tale promised earlier? How did Lady Celia find her place among us?”

  Sangor bowed and returned to the center of the room. The soft buzz of conversation stilled as his sonorous voice rolled over them.

  “Cunning were the men from whose loins sprang the Northmen. Courageous and strong the Nuvinlander root-stock! Beautiful and brave their women who gave us birth. And no less valorous is a woman who tonight graces our company. Valiant and shrewd, a Valkyrie sits among us, gifted by Freyr the ever-generous. Lady Celia, whose quick wits and bold actions saved Quartzholm from a fiery doom.”

  Saeun glanced over at the head table. She didn’t need Ragni’s Empathy to see Lord Dahleven’s pride, but Lady Celia seemed unhappy with the attention. Saeun couldn’t understand why. Despite the usual skaldic hyperbole, the woman from Midgard really was a heroine.