FORBIDDEN TALENTS

by Frankie Robertson

  It could be a pretty raucous affair and still be quieter than this.

  Utta paused, just long enough for drama, but not long enough to worry anyone, before taking the barley from the rake. The guests, already half drunk, exploded in cheers that reverberated off the stone walls.

  When Celia and Dahleven had played this charade, it had taken place outdoors in one of Neven’s fields, and Dahleven had scythed the grain himself before giving it to her.

  Eventually the crowd quieted again. Utta set the statue of Freyr aside and bent to remove her slippers. Some women, Celia had been told, played this part of the ritual shyly, others teased their betrothed close enough to claim a kiss before surrendering the symbol of their sexuality. Utta did neither. She held out her slippers as if offering a treasure. Ragni took them from her with a slight bow and pressed them to his heart.

  The crowd cheered again even louder, the undercurrent of anxiety about Neven giving their enthusiasm an edge of desperate fervor.

  Father Sigg’s Healing had failed badly. The priest now lay unseeing and unknowing in his bed. No one expected him to recover. Vali had come out of the room dazed and shaken, but unscathed. Neven, at least, was no worse, if no better. Despite everyone’s grief, all parties had agreed the betrothal should go on as planned.

  The crowd continued their ribald shouts and encouragements as Ragni stepped to the side of the little cart and lifted Utta in his arms. The guests opened a path for him as he carried Utta up the center of the room, passing by the blazing fire-pits, all the way up to the dais where he set her gently on her bare feet by her chair.

  Dahleven left Celia’s side and stepped between Ragni and Utta. He waited until the crowd quieted and said, “Welcome, sister,” and kissed Utta on the forehead. He moved aside as Wirmund stepped forward and took the couple’s hands, proclaiming, “These two have accepted one another. May Baldur’s blessings be upon them, may his servants Freyr and Freya bless them, and let their union be joyous and fruitful.” He lifted their hands in front of him and joined them together.

  It took a long time for the cheering to die down. When it subsided, Dahleven nodded to the Kikmongsowuhti. She rose from her place and went to Utta and Ragni.

  Nai’awika took Utta’s hands in her own. Celia was close enough to hear the old woman say, “You are now joined with a man of power, daughter. Do not forget your own. He will need your strength as you will need his.” Then she raised one hand palm outward. “Haliksa’i! As, in the beginning, Tiowa and Kokyanwuhti came together to sing the First Song and the Song of Life, so must the two of you come together to sing your own song. Keep your kopavi open to Tiowa and your hearts open to each other.” Nai’awika draped a soft white shawl embroidered with intricate symbols over Utta’s shoulders. Its edge came nearly to her knees. “Take this ovah´, daughter. May it bring you the blessing of many strong children.”

  Utta blushed and smiled. “Thank you, Grandmother. You honor us.”

  “Thank you,” Ragni echoed.

  Nai’awika leaned close to Ragni, and Celia could just barely hear what she said. “You, who hear with your heart. Haliksa’i! You have grown lazy. Open your kopavi! Serve the gods truly, in deed as well as word.”

  Ragni raised his eyebrows but inclined his head in courtesy. Celia wondered if he understood Nai’awika’s odd admonition, or if it was as much a mystery to him as it was to her.

  When the older woman returned to her chair, the servants began bringing out massive quantities of food and drink. Pheasant, boar, and venison, stewed and baked fruit, buttered roots and greens, and breads and pastries in the shapes of Freya’s cats and Freyr’s boar. Dahleven offered the first toast as Neven would have done, followed by toasts made by Magnus and just about every man who could lift a cup. The feasting continued until no one could consume another mouthful. Then Sangor came out and told the tale of Freyr and his love for Gerda.

  Celia was only a little less appalled than she’d been the first time she’d heard the story, at her own betrothal. It hardly seemed appropriate for the occasion. Gerda, coerced into marriage, was essentially raped. Celia looked around the room. Pretty much everyone seemed to be enjoying the tale. Both Dahleven and Ragni were nodding in time to Sangor’s rhythmic telling. That Gerda eventually came to love the husband who had forced himself on her seemed a happy ending conceived by male arrogance.

  Celia glanced at the Tewakwe leaders. She saw Nai’awika and Loloma glance at each other. Loloma frowned, and Nai’awika shook her head. What were Tewa weddings like? What stories did they tell about men and women? And how different were the Nuvinlanders, how different was Dahleven, that he didn’t see the ugliness in the story?

  Celia almost felt ill. Musicians began an introductory tune as Sangor bowed and accepted the approving cheers and stomps of his audience. She certainly wasn’t interested in the dancing that was about to start, but for Utta’s sake she had to participate. The music shifted, and Ragni and Utta rose, stepping from the dais to the clear space in front of the fire-pits. Before they could begin dancing, Celia and Dahleven intercepted and separated them. They were joined by other young lords and ladies. The men formed one circle and the women another, stepping in intricate rhythm as the circles intertwined. Around and around the circles wove, in patterns ever more complex. Celia forgot her anger as she concentrated on the steps. Men and women passed by each other, not dancing as pairs until the final cycle, when Ragni and Utta were finally allowed to come together. Then the couples spun off together, in what was called the Flower Dance for its looping pattern, like petals on a flower.

  “Mother taught you well, while I was away all summer,” Dahleven said as he spun Celia across the floor, making her emerald dress flare out from her ankles. “You dance as if you were born to it.”

  Celia smiled at the complement. “Dancing was a lesson I enjoyed. I just wish you could have been the one to teach me.”

  “As do I.”

  The music ended and they glided to a stop. “I think I’ll call it quits and head up to bed now,” Celia said.

  “It’s still early, and the dancing has barely begun,” Dahleven protested. Then he looked at her more closely. “Are you all right?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me that a little sleep won’t cure. I haven’t slept any better than you have the last few nights.”

  “Of course.” Dahl glanced at her waist. “For a moment I thought—never mind.”

  “You thought I might be pregnant? You haven’t been in Quartzholm enough for that.” Her look softened. “I do want that, too, Dahl. But with everything that’s going on with Ragni and Saeun and Utta and your dad, this doesn’t seem like a good time.” She grinned. “That doesn’t mean we can’t practice.”

  “I can’t leave yet. Not until Ragni and Utta depart.”

  “I know. Join me soon?”

  “As soon as I can. I’ll send Fender with you.” Dahleven gestured to his friend, who immediately began making his way toward them.

  “That’s hardly necessary.”

  “I know you’re an uncommonly capable woman, Celia, but there is an assassin loose in Quartzholm. In this one small matter, please, do as I ask.”

  “He’s right, my lady. You must guard your safety, if not for your own sake, then for my lord’s sanity.” Fender chimed in, grinning.

  Celia grinned back, shaking her head. “Very well. Lead on, MacDuff.”

  Fender offered his arm and soon they’d wended their way through the celebrating throng. Outside the Feasting Hall the corridors were nearly deserted. Celia dropped Fender’s arm and they walked together in companionable silence to her apartments. But as Celia reached for the latch, Fender pulled her back. “Please, my lady.”

  “Oh, stop with the ‘my lady’ already. We got done with that in private when you trained me to use my Talent.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Fender teased, but he still went first into her apartments.

  Celia waited a slow count of five as she knew she should, then followed. F
ender had turned up the lamps and was ten feet in front of her, just going into her bedroom, when a yowling screech behind her made Celia spin into a defensive crouch, every hair on her body rising at the sound. In the half shadows of the corner a thick bodied man-shape the size of a football clutched a small curved blade that dripped with blood. He bled from half a dozen shallow cuts. Facing him, a sinuous creature that was all claws and teeth leapt on him.

  Suddenly Fender was between her and the fight. His long dagger was in one hand, his boot knife in the other, his muscles tensed for battle. Then he straightened and laughed. “Looks like puss has caught herself a hedgehog. I wonder how he got all the way up here?”

  Celia whipped her white over-tunic over her head and held it in front of her as she dashed forward. “Help me catch them!”

  “Catch them?” But Fender obeyed, stepping forward to snatch up the sinuous one by the back of its neck. “Careful there, Puss—Ow!” The creature turned in its own skin and raked Fender with its claws until Fender dropped it. Then it dashed in a blur for the open door. “Blasted Balls!”

  Celia had better luck. She covered and bagged the man-creature with her over-tunic, wrapping him tightly. A fortunate twist disarmed him of his knife. He must have been nearly done in by his battle, because he quickly stopped struggling. Celia opened the tightly wrapped bundle enough to show the creature’s face and give him some air.

  “I’m sorry, Celia. The cat got away.” Fender shook his wounded hand. “At least you caught the hedgehog.”

  “It’s not a hedgehog. And that wasn’t a cat.”

  “My lady?” Fender was too polite to doubt her directly.

  “Show yourself!” Celia shook her bundle. “Show yourself to him!” The thick bodied little man-thing winced in pain, but kept a stubborn set to his jaw.

  Fender looked at her as if she were demented.

  She was angry now. This, or that other thing, or maybe both of them, had been spying on her for weeks. He was heavy for his size, and she had an idea. “Reveal yourself! Or we’ll see how well you float.” She wouldn’t actually drown it. For one thing, she didn’t want to give it CPR.

  Fender’s gasp told her that the creature had dropped his glamour.

  “What by Odin’s Eye is that?”

  In a voice like a sticking door, the creature answered, “I’m a pinnsvin, you thick-wit. Now let me go.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “YOU CAN GO,” Ragni said to Utta’s maid. Katri glanced at her lady for confirmation.

  “You heard Lord Ragnar.” Utta gestured toward the door.

  Katri nodded and left, a rather grim expression on her face. Most of the servants they’d encountered on the way to their new, connecting apartments were wearing sly smiles, or openly grinning. But Katri was gone before Ragni thought to read her.

  He leaned against the closed door. “Her loyalty is commendable.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. Utta’s maid would have to be directed to accept his commands as well as hers, but that could wait.

  “I’m sorry.” Utta sat in chair by the fire.

  “Don’t be too harsh with her. I’m glad you have someone serving you who has your interests in mind.” Ragni pushed away from the door and sat on the footstool in front of Utta.

  “What makes you think I’d be harsh with her?” Utta asked sharply.

  Ragni smiled more fully. “Nothing, my dear. It was only a turn of phrase.” He pulled her feet into his lap. For an instant she resisted, then relaxed and let him pull off her slippers. “Who would have thought a betrothal ceremony would be so exhausting?” Ragni said as he began to knead Utta’s right foot.

  “Any woman who’s been through one.”

  Ragni snorted. “Or any man.”

  “Tired, are you?” Utta asked.

  Ragni quirked an eyebrow. “Not too tired.” He found a tight spot on Utta’s instep and began working on it.

  “Oh, that’s good,” she groaned.

  “I’m a man of many talents.”

  Utta snorted delicately at the double meaning. “Our fathers hope I’m bearing by the time we wed.” She paused. “So do I.”

  Ragni’s brows rose. “Do you?” He grinned. “I’ll do my best.” Then, more seriously he asked, “Why?”

  “Many reasons. Some pragmatic, others—less so.”

  “Should I guess? Or leave your mystery intact?”

  Utta laughed. “Oh, do guess. It’s better if couples well understand each other.”

  “Sometimes.” Ragni assumed a thoughtful expression. “Pragmatic first. An early child would connect you quickly to the other women in the family. Kaidlin is crazy for babies, and Mother is anxious for another grandchild. Ingirid is less enthusiastic about the process, but would respect you for doing your duty so promptly …How am I doing?”

  “Very well.”

  He already knew he’d come close to the mark by the pleased surprise that he felt flowing from her.

  “Now for the less pragmatic—” Utta’s feelings changed suddenly to apprehension.

  Ragni’s fingers stilled. “What?”

  “What do you mean, what?”

  “Why are you afraid?”

  “You’re using your Talent on me?” Utta sat up straight, pulling her feet out of his lap.

  “Are you really surprised?”

  “Well …no.” She sagged against the back of her chair. “I just thought you might wait. It seems so …so intimate.”

  “How better for me to know, and understand, and learn to please you?”

  Utta nodded but didn’t look convinced.

  “Now, what are you afraid of?” He captured Utta’s other foot and began to massage.

  She hesitated. “I—I just thought about—well, every woman is afraid, at least a little, of childbirth.”

  She was lying. The words were true enough, but underneath was something else, something she was afraid to share. First Saeun, and now Utta. She’d have to learn that she couldn’t hide things from him, but not tonight. He would tease her secrets from her more easily when she trusted him.

  “Of course. And if truth be told, every man is terrified of it.” How he would have paced while Saeun bore his child. His heart clenched at the thought of what would never be.

  Utta smiled. “Yet babes continue to be born.”

  “Because babies continue to be made.” Ragni managed to return her smile as his hands left Utta’s foot and began to knead her calf.

  “My lord—”

  “Ragni,” he corrected.

  “Ragni. I know we’re expected …but we don’t have to. What I mean is…” Utta took a breath and began again.

  Her emotions were a jumble of anxiety and compassion—and deception.

  “I do hope for a child to come quickly to us, but we need not begin tonight. Your grief for Saeun is too new. I would not ask you to feign affection for me when your heart is raw. It would be better if we came together with light hearts and not only from our sense of duty.”

  Ragni’s hands stilled on Utta’s leg and he closed his eyes. Saeun. He’d tried to keep the pain walled away during the ceremony. Now it flooded back, threatening to drown him.

  He nodded. When he trusted his voice he said, “Thank you. I am fortunate indeed to be betrothed to such a wise and understanding woman.”

  *

  “Let me go, you ham-handed giant!”

  Dahleven held the bundled pinnsvin at arms’s length. The creature struggled, but it was wrapped too tightly in Celia’s over-dress to get free.

  Celia’s urgent summons had reached him less than half a candle-mark after she’d left. His betrothed was not inclined to dramatics, so he’d swiftly taken leave of the guests remaining in the feasting hall without giving too much cause for comment. His subsequent run through the halls might have raised an eyebrow or two, however. He’d hardly expected this, but knowing that Celia was safe made him feel almost giddy. “You were not invited, mite. You should be more polite. Now why are you here?�
��

  The little man-thing set its heavy jaw and pointedly looked away. Its skin was wrinkled and dark brown.

  “Speak!” Dahleven gave the thing a shake. The pinnsvin just scowled.

  Dahleven’s hands tightened at a knock on Celia’s door.

  “Ow!”

  “Quiet,” Dahleven growled.

  Celia went to open the door just wide enough to receive what the messenger carried.

  “Oh, so now you want me to be quiet? Well, make up your mind, if you have one. Which is it to be?”

  Celia returned from the door with a small metal cage. An iron cage. She set it on the table where the pinnsvin could see it.

  The creature stilled. “What do you mean to do with that?”

  “What is your name, sir?” Celia asked.

  The pinnsvin opened his mouth to speak, but Dahleven gave him a small squeeze and said, “Your true name.”

  The pinnsvin shut his mouth with a snap.

  “Perhaps you’d like to think about it while you rest in the cage?” Dahleven took a step closer to the table. Iron was anathema to the Fey. At best iron burned, at worst it could kill. Or so legend said.

  “All right! All right! My name is Baruq.”

  “Very well, then, Baruq, I will release you if you swear on your true name not to escape.”

  “I swear.”

  “On…”

  “On my true name, Baruq, to not escape.”

  “And to answer my questions truthfully.”

  The pinnsvin pressed its lips together, but his gaze slid to the cage. “And to answer your questions truthfully.”

  Dahleven put Baruq down on the table. “Why are you here?”

  “To spy on you and the lady, numb-wit.”

  Fender coughed and covered his mouth.

  “Who sent you?”

  “The Lios Alfar. The Light Elves.”

  “Why?”

  The pinnsvin curled his lip. “Do you confide all your plans to those you command?”

  Dahleven looked pointedly at the iron cage. “Remember your oath, Baruq.”

  “All right! I really don’t know what is in the mind of the Praefect. I do know that the Dark Ones are stirring, and the Lios Alfar are concerned. The Dark have their eyes and ears here and so must my masters.”