Cold Iron

by Stina Leicht

  Ilta nodded. “The visions aren’t as bad when I’ve been able to rest. It’s why I can only use a certain amount of healing magic. If I push myself too far, the pain is so awful that light hurts my eyes. I can’t do anything until it goes away. Gran says everything has its price.”

  Suvi gave her the water flask and nodded.

  Ilta swallowed and closed her eyes. “The headache should be gone in a little while, I hope.”

  Looking to the cavern, Suvi said, “How much longer do you think they’ll be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Suvi listened to the wind play in the forest. Once again, the lack of background animal sounds was disturbing—only now there were no bird cries, no furtive movements of deer or mice or other small creatures. Only the empty breeze. It was as if the forest was keeping a solemn silence in reverence for a holy place. Except she knew otherwise.

  As she waited, the metal taste of the cave’s magic began to fade on her tongue. Tension eased from her shoulders but didn’t vanish completely.

  Ilta’s voice shattered the calm. “I saw them.”

  “Who?”

  “The—the Old Ones. They’ve crossed over. The seal is broken.”

  Suvi stood up and prepared to go into the cave alone for her father in spite of her terror.

  “Not here. Elsewhere. Somewhere in the south. Something is wrong,” Ilta said with a shudder. “Oh, Mother. I have to tell you. I have to. But you have to promise not to tell Gran I said anything.”

  “All right. I promise.” Suvi attempted not to show her fear. Ilta seemed upset enough.

  “Maybe it won’t happen at all. Gran says we see possibilities based upon current circumstances. Something or someone might change everything. You never know.”

  “What might not happen?” Suvi didn’t feel reassured.

  Ilta bit her lip. “You can’t tell your father what I’m about to say, either.”

  “I promise. Now tell me.”

  Taking another deep breath, Ilta whispered, “Your mother should leave Jalokivi now and stay away from the capital until the war is over.”

  “What? Leave court? Why?”

  “She’s—she’s in danger.” Ilta kept her gaze fixed to the ground.

  “It isn’t Father, is it? Is it something Uncle Sakari is up to? Tell me!”

  “It’s something else. I—I can’t remember the details now. Will you please tell her anyway? I don’t think it’s too late. It would be best if you stayed away from the palace, too. It’ll be this summer, I think.”

  Suvi paused. “You do remember, don’t you?”

  “I can’t say. I shouldn’t. Shit! I hate this!” It was the first time Suvi had ever heard Ilta swear, and it came as a shock. Ilta pounded a fist in the dirt. “Look. I don’t know anything for certain. And Gran says it’s best not to mention anything until you are. It makes a mess of things. Just … please. Take it as a warning. All right?”

  “All right. I can arrange to be away from court,” Suvi said, and then spied Ilta’s expression. “That isn’t everything, is it?”

  Ilta slumped. “I saw something else.”

  “What?” Suvi sat back down.

  Taking a deep breath, Ilta drew spirals in the dirt. She didn’t seem to notice what she was doing. “It’s about your brother.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “For now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Suvi watched the spirals form faster and tighter, almost frantic, then Ilta obliterated them with an angry hand.

  “He won’t admit it, but he needs you. And you need him.” Ilta bit her lip. “Watch over him, will you? I can’t—” She choked. Blinking up at the trees, an expression of profound heartbreak stole over her face. “I can’t be anywhere near him. Not now.”

  “What does that mean?” Suvi frowned.

  “And … tell him to be careful.”

  NELS

  ONE

  “Would you please limit yourself to trampling one foot or the other?” Nels asked, detecting a slur in his own speech and not caring. “It’s the least you could do after dragging me through half the alehouses in Jalokivi.”

  He hefted Viktor for the third time, trying for better leverage by wedging his shoulder farther under Viktor’s arm. Nels stumbled, nearly pitching them both onto the muddy cobblestones. The ravages of variola throughout the rest of the realm didn’t seem to have done much to dampen the spirits of residents in the capital city, nor did the doom of impending war. It was long past midnight, but every lamp was lit in nearly every house. The sounds of music and laughter flooded into the night.

  Viktor snorted, and Nels got a nose full of sour alcohol-breath. He turned away with a wince.

  “’Twould appear you’re dragging me at the moment,” Viktor said. “Where shall we go next?”

  “Your barracks house, to sleep it off.”

  Viktor stopped or attempted to, but Nels pulled him another laborious step toward home.

  “What?” Viktor asked. “With the other half of Jalokivi’s fine alehouses unvisited?”

  “You’ve seen them before,” Nels said. “I suspect every barman in the city knows you by name.”

  “Not in a mood for drinking, I see.” Viktor held a finger up in the air. “Well, then. We shall visit Helmi. No doubt she’s having a nice pre-victory party. Wouldn’t you rather wake in the arms of an angel than alone in a smelly barracks house?”

  “We leave for the Acrasian border in the morning.”

  “Exactly.” Viktor straightened and then wobbled before Nels caught him.

  “You’re too drunk to do Helmi any good.”

  Viktor put a hand to his heart and bowed his head in mock grief. “True. Very true.” He looked through the fringe of light brown hair falling into his face. “But you aren’t.”

  “Helmi wouldn’t have me even if I were interested—which I’m not.”

  “She has a v-very generous nature. She might even forfeit the gift price for the Soldier Prince, savior of Eledore.”

  Nels frowned. “Stop calling me that.”

  With obvious effort, Viktor withdrew his arm and stood on his own. His brows drew together. “It’s that little blond, isn’t it?”

  Ilta. Her name is Ilta. “You’re drunk.”

  “So are you. Although not as drunk as you should be.” Using an accusatory finger, Viktor poked him in the chest. “Damn it all, how long are you going to dangle at the end of that rope?”

  “What rope?”

  Viktor sighed. Then he made a gesture involving his index finger. “The one that blond has looped around your—”

  “We’re going back to your barracks house. You’re a korva. You have special status. You can be late to formation, and no one will say a word. I can’t. Colonel Pesola doesn’t much care for me as it is.”

  “ ‘Pick your battles.’ Sound familiar?” Viktor paused. “Hasn’t anyone mentioned that one to you before?”

  Nels grunted.

  “Crashing about like a mad bull can only get you so far in life, you know.” Viktor’s head dropped, and he swallowed. “Oh, gods.”

  Afraid his friend was about to be sick, Nels shifted his grip on Viktor and prepared for the worst.

  Instead, Viktor said, “I understand your disdain for court, but hobnails really aren’t suitable for every occasion.”

  “Tell me we’re not having this conversation again.”

  “I have it on good authority that women don’t much care to have their feet gored during dances,” Viktor said. “Might change your luck with—with whatever her name is. Come to think of it, a touch of polish wouldn’t be remiss, either. Too bad it won’t make you any less noisy.”

  “I should’ve left Almari to you. I know. How many times do I have to apologize?”

  “One more time, I think. I rather like the sound,” Viktor said. “I’ve a deliciously wicked idea. Let’s visit the impound. The docks aren’t that far from here.”

  “No.”

&
nbsp; “Why not? It would be fun.”

  “It’s too risky. Even if it wasn’t, there’s no time. We’d have to do it tonight,” Nels said, stopping himself. “Correction. You would have to do it tonight. If you get caught, Major Lindström will throw me to the wolves. Rabid wolves. In a pit. With a fresh reindeer ham tied around my neck. He said that he might consider throwing in some agitated bees for good measure.”

  “Me? Caught? Never,” Viktor said. “You’re the one who should watch himself.”

  “True. The major did say if he receives one more reprimand from Pesola on my behalf—”

  “Lindström likes you,” Viktor said. “He isn’t the one I’d worry about if I were you.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

  “It’s Colonel Pesola. He’s an evil bastard. And you are now on his short list for delaying our deployment.” Viktor hiccupped. “He was not happy to discover the source of variola in the ranks.”

  “I followed the chain of command. Can I help it that Major Lindström went straight to the head of Medical Corp? And she decided not to tell him until after it was done?”

  “I suspect Pesola doesn’t care.”

  Nels said, “Pesola will thank me later.”

  “I don’t think ‘thank’ is the word he’d use,” Viktor said. “That was some risk you took.”

  “We took. Lindström and I volunteered for inoculation, too.” No one had died, and a majority of the troops had recovered with only a few scars. Still, Nels suffered some guilt. Viktor was right. It had been a terrible risk. It didn’t help that Nels had been one of the more fortunate ones and had contracted one of the lighter cases.

  “Private Ketola is lucky Pesola didn’t string him up in spite of the both of you.”

  “Ketola only did what I told him,” Nels said. “What has Pesola to complain about? With all three companies inoculated, there’s no chance we’ll fall prey to variola on the field. Look at what happened to Major Bohinen.”

  “Taken by the Acrasians at Södersjö while in his bed.”

  “What a mess that was.”

  “He only had his commission because his father is a brigadier general,” Viktor said, and lowered his voice. “The troops are saying it’s good he was an only child.”

  Nels pretended he didn’t hear that.

  “Just the same,” Viktor said, and hiccupped again. “Not sure I’ve seen Pesola that furious. Listen to your korva. It’s what you pay me for. I’d watch your back if I were you.”

  “The most he can do is bust me to lieutenant. I’ve already lost a kingdom. What’s a few bits of braid compared to that?” Nels asked. Don’t lie. You wanted to see major one day. Now you never will.

  Damn it. We needed those muskets.

  “Yes. Yes. We’ve heard that one before. And it’s far too depressing a subject for tonight,” Viktor said. “I know. Let’s go to Helmi’s. You won’t get caught. I swear it.” He placed a hand on his heart. “S-swear.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “We’ll leave when the clock tower chimes four.”

  “No.”

  “I promise not to tell your little blond where you were.”

  “That doesn’t matter.” It’s been almost two weeks since I last heard from her. Her last message said she was working at the hospital, but she’s left Jalokivi. No one will explain why. They know, but they won’t tell me, Nels thought. She’s changed her mind. Came to her senses at last. But why didn’t she tell me first? Why did she leave? “We’re not bound.”

  “All the more reason to get what you can while you can,” Viktor said.

  Nels shrugged.

  “When was the last time you gave a woman a good swiving?” Viktor asked. “Your right hand doesn’t count, even if you do grant it a name like Corporal Kallela does.”

  “I don’t for one instant believe—”

  “Calls it Valma, after his first love. Whole regiment knows.” Viktor shook his head in disgust. They staggered three more steps toward Viktor’s barracks house together. “You write her a letter every day. Does she even answer?”

  “Fine. Let’s go to Helmi’s,” Nels said. “Anything is better than listening to you badger me all night.”

  “Yes!” Due to looking over his shoulder and not watching where he was going, Viktor staggered into a carriage horse. “Begging your pardon, madam.” To the driver’s confusion, Viktor then doffed his hat and bent into a low, unsteady bow. He glanced up without straightening. “Oh. I do apologize. Sir.”

  Nels checked the interior of the coach and found it empty. “Are you already engaged?” He asked the driver.

  The coachman shook his head.

  Yanking Viktor up by his collar, Nels said, “Give the nice coachman the address.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there are many things I’d do for you, but I refuse to carry you all the way to Helmi’s bed.”

  Viktor grinned. “Number sixteen, North Street.”

  Nels paid and then stuffed Viktor into the coach. Getting him onto the padded bench was another matter, and after several tries, Nels left his friend curled up on the floor. With that done, he rested his boots on the bench opposite and shut gritty eyes. The coach had traveled less than five hundred feet when a snore drifted up from the floorboards. Viktor muttered in his sleep, but the words were lost in the clattering of coach wheels and rattling livery.

  How does he do it? Nels thought. Given any opportunity, Viktor could fall asleep no matter the situation—even during a bone-­jarring coach ride. In a fit of pique, Nels prodded Viktor. “What did you say?”

  “Don’t know why you’re in a mood. Thought you’ve been wanting to do something about the Acrasians for years?”

  “Not like this. Not war. And not without muskets.”

  “We have some.”

  “Not enough for a battle, let alone a war.”

  “Don’t need them. We’ve magic. Now that all of Eledore is committed to the fight, we’ll frighten the Acrasians into the sea.”

  “We didn’t commit to the war all at once. Half our forces have already taken a beating. The rest need training. We need enemy troop reports, proper supplies—”

  “They’ll run screaming. Everyone says so.”

  “Not everyone.”

  “You’re paranoid.”

  Nels stared out the carriage window, watching the revelers while dread bore down on his shoulders. “I was a royal once. If there is one thing I learned, it’s that paranoia is what keeps you alive,” he whispered to no one in particular.

  Viktor resumed his snoring and wouldn’t stop, no matter how many times Nels nudged him with the toe of a boot. After a short distance, the coach halted and the coach step clattered open. Nels looked out the window. Clearly, the riots hadn’t touched this part of the city. An ornate three-story mansion with stately white ­columns and gaping windows stared back at him. Rows of lamps outlined the path from gate to porch in the darkness. A woman sang in a cheerful soprano, her voice floating through the open windows. She was accompanied by a pianoforte. Shadowy revelers laughed and chattered within the rectangles of light.

  Nels got to the difficult business of levering Viktor’s slack body from the floor. Unconscious, his friend seemed to weigh twice as much as usual, and hauling his limp form up the porch steps wasn’t going to be fun. For an instant, Nels considered going home. Helmi’s house does have a certain reputation. The ladies employed by the house were reputed to be especially well trained. Some, it was said, had special talents—magical talents, in fact, specific to their craft. He’d never so much as ventured past the front gate in his entire life. It might be interesting. To look. There’s nothing wrong with looking, is there? He didn’t believe he could afford anything beyond that even if he wanted. It said a great deal that Viktor could. I’ll have a drink. Maybe two. Leave Viktor to his fun. Go for a long walk. Collect him, then return to the barracks house. He shrugged and got to work. To simplify matters, he tossed both of their
hats into the dooryard from the coach door. Next, he hopped out and then reached inside, dragging Viktor to the carriage step by the ankles. When Nels yanked him into a sitting position, Viktor’s head collided into the edge of the coach door with a hollow bonk.

  “Good thing you’re too drunk to feel that.” Nels hefted Viktor over a shoulder and then staggered through the gate. He was then met by one of the ladies of the establishment. Her long hair cascaded down her back and shoulders in frothy black curls. She was short and trim. An infantry tricorne was perched on the crown of her head at a jaunty angle. The front of her gown did a credible job of showcasing plump breasts and a pair of striking legs. Ribbon garters topped her stockings.

  She held up the hats. “Did you gentlemen lose something?”

  “Ah. Yes. We … er … did. Thank you,” Nels said.

  She bent, getting a closer look at Viktor’s face. Nels found himself staring down the front of her stays. Smooth round skin was bathed in moonlight.

  It’d be rude to simply drop off Viktor and leave.

  “Why, Lieutenant Reini, I do believe you look a bit worse for wear,” she said. “I’ll get Helmi.”

  She dashed up the path and vanished into the house. Light and music spilled onto the porch in equal measures. Nels propped Viktor up against the gate post. Viktor’s head bumped against iron—this time with far less force. Viktor didn’t even flinch. Nels turned and made arrangements with the coachman to return before dawn. Then he levered his shoulder under Viktor’s once more and staggered to the house. Avoiding the lamps along the way, he had lurched as far as the first step when reinforcements arrived—a man twice his size and a beautiful woman with red hair. Both were swathed in very patriotic Eledorean blue.

  “My poor Viktor. I wondered when I’d see you tonight.” Her voice was deep and sensual.

  Viktor’s eyes snapped open. “Helmi? Is that you?”

  “Here I am, my love.” She lifted his chin and gave him a kiss on the now painful-looking lump. “Is my boy having a rough night?”

  Viktor said, “The bad captain dropped me on my head. Twice.”

  She moved to kiss his forehead again, and Viktor moved quickly to meet her lips with his.

  “He’s yours if you’ll have him,” Nels said. “Otherwise, he’s getting dumped in the dooryard—this time on his ass.”