Cold Iron

by Stina Leicht

  Suvi said, “Defend? The majority of our navy consists of merchant vessels. They’re not designed for war. Most only have one or two swivel cannon intended to frighten off thieves or wild animals.”

  “Besides the Otter, we have three warships available,” the king said.

  “Then the warships we do have should be prepared to hold the western docks at all costs. As for the rest … those that can’t withstand a battle should be prepared for an evacuation. The lakes will be our only retreat should the worst happen.” Who am I fooling? They both know I don’t know what I’m doing, Nels thought. Your Highness, your army is now in the hands of an incompetent defect. Go on. Say it. Tell me I’m nothing. I know you want to.

  “What about the eastern docks? Shouldn’t we stop the Acrasians there?” Suvi asked.

  “I’m certain we don’t have enough ships to defend both adequately,” Nels said. “I’ll need to inspect the eastern docks …” He shrugged. He didn’t wish to argue with Suvi in front of their father.

  Valterri appeared at Nels’s side and offered him the roasted elk. Nels nodded as Valterri selected a few cuts and replaced the serving fork. Valterri then went to the buffet table, covered the meat, and prepared to make the rounds with the sauce, onions, and ­carrots. The fragrance of good food filled Nels’s nostrils as each dish was served. The scent was almost powerful enough to distract him from the conversation’s unspoken landscape.

  “Very well. You two should discuss the defenses in detail once your personal inspection is complete. We can address the situation together afterward,” his father said. “I should ask this now. You have a better knowledge of the condition of the army. Do you think you have enough troops to defend the walls?”

  You can do this, Nels thought. Pretend you’re talking to an officer. It’s no different than reporting to Colonel Pesola. The muscles in his shoulders cramped. His throat felt too tight. He coughed and then took a sip of wine. “We may be short due to a more urgent concern. There are”—Don’t say “dead bodies rotting in the city” even if there are. You’re at the dinner table—“neighborhoods requiring immediate … cleansing. To—to prevent further spread of disease.” He remembered the empty streets. How many civilians are left? In the rush of everything Suvi had to say, I forgot to ask. He blinked back shame. “We won’t last a siege without making that a priority.”

  “It seems the City Guard have been unable to keep up with the problem, sadly. Recruit whomever you can from the City Guard. The prisons may have a few inmates remaining,” his father said, cutting into the meat on his plate and taking a bite. “You also have my permission to use the Royal Guard. Do what you feel you must.”

  Disconcerted at the show of confidence, Nels nodded. He’d have to ask Suvi how many of the Guard could be made available. As much as he needed the help, it wouldn’t be wise to leave the king unprotected.

  Protection? Why are you thinking like this?

  “Compose a list of requirements for me and send a copy to your sister,” his father said. “That should include whatever you need personally. I see you must’ve lost your baggage.”

  So it begins. Nels felt his cheeks heat. Stop reacting as if you’re ten. “Yes, sir. If there is time—”

  “I’ll provide everything I can. We may be short on certain items. Please bear that in mind,” his father said. Exhaustion and defeat had returned to his features. “A great deal has changed since you left.”

  “We have more than you think. Jalokivi is well designed to withstand a siege,” Nels said, once more taking the opposition. “And the Acrasians are southerners. They aren’t used to our winters. If we can hold out a month or so and prevent them from acquiring supplies and shelter, they’ll be forced to withdraw or freeze to death. I suggested housing as much of the population and supplies that we can within the city walls and then burning out the surrounding farms. It’s a standard siege tactic and somewhat expected, but the Acrasians have advanced too rapidly. Their supply trains will be strained to keep up. Which is why we should destroy all possible provisions around Herraskariano, Mehrinna, and every other town or city that the Acrasians haven’t taken. The river locks must be destroyed or made nonoperational too—”

  “The locks along the Greater and Lesser Sininen Rivers have already been shut down,” Suvi said. “Most can’t be operated without magic, anyway.”

  Nels blinked. He hadn’t known that. “Good. Eledore should be as barren as we can make it. Suvi disagrees. She thinks it will anger the common folk.”

  “The winter will be hard enough without wasting what little we have,” Suvi said.

  “There is no other choice,” Nels said. “We must make use of what few assets we have remaining. Our winter is one of them. If we had enough troops and more time, there are other things I would recommend. Unfortunately, we don’t have either.”

  His father stared. Again, Nels caught that flash of white against black.

  Uncomfortable, Nels returned his attention to his plate and took a bite to cover the silence. Here it comes. The warm elk meat was tender and moist, and the blackcurrant sauce provided the perfect complement. Savory flavors combined on his tongue—the citrus-pine of juniper berries, pepper, and musky blackcurrant. It was without a doubt the best he’d tasted since the winter holidays. He’d gone hungry enough times to know that hunger accentuated taste. He was overwhelmed with an urge to bolt his food while it was available, in spite of everything. Still, he forced himself to linger over cutting another bite.

  His father took a deep breath. It was as if his next words would take a great deal of strength. He glanced at Suvi before he opened his mouth to speak. Nels prepared himself. Then he registered Suvi’s nod of approval at the edge of his vision.

  “I agree with your recommendation, Nels,” his father said. “I—I’m glad you’re home.”

  At that moment, it occurred to Nels that his sister made a formi­dable diplomat. He checked Suvi’s face. Sure enough, she was waiting for his response. She didn’t have to mouth anything for him to understand what she would say. Say something nice in return. Now, damn it. Or you’ll regret it.

  “Thank you, sir. It’s—it’s good to be here.” Nels’s lie nestled awkwardly in the conversational gap.

  “Nels is staying in the palace tonight, Papa. I’ve had Ide put him in his old rooms.”

  “I shouldn’t. It’s unseemly,” Nels said, placing his silverware on his plate and using the stiff linen napkin. “Mrs. Nimonen has prepared the barracks house. I’ve a great deal to do and—”

  “No. I—I mean, please. Stay,” his father said. “You’ve only just returned. And it’s been too long since you visited.”

  Visited? Nels thought.

  “I’m alone too much these days. With your mother gone …” Their father looked away and blinked back what Nels could’ve sworn were tears. “It’ll be … good to have you here. If you are finished eating, perhaps we should retire to my study for a pipe and some Islander wine?” He seemed to catch Nels’s blank expression. “Ah. Do you … smoke? I don’t even know.”

  “No, sir.”

  His father blinked. “Oh.”

  Nels caught yet another of his sister’s tight-lipped, expectant looks. It was so much like their mother’s that he almost smiled. “I meant—I mean, I don’t smoke. But yes, sir. I’ll stay.”

  “Thank you,” his father said.

  Nels didn’t think he’d heard his father speak those two words together before in his life, let alone to him. Watching his father get up from his chair, Nels understood that the father that he knew was gone and quite likely wasn’t ever coming back. Grief and loss had killed him. The person in front of him was different and needed to be dealt with as such. Was this what Ilta meant?

  “What of the Islander?” their father asked, getting up. “Do you drink?”

  Suvi, in what Nels considered an amazing feat of self-control, covered her mouth. The only sound to escape was a muffled snort that might have passed for a cough to the uninfo
rmed.

  He can’t possibly be ignorant of all the times I was drunk, can he? Mother knew. But then, his mother hadn’t cut him off, had she? “I prefer whiskey or wine.”

  “Oh. All right.” The king addressed Valterri. “Do we have anything suitable?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. An Islander has already been airing in the study for you. I will decant a bottle of red in case that proves more suitable.”

  “Thank you very much, Valterri.” The king turned to Suvi. “Let’s go, then.” An edge of relief was evident in his tone. “This room is too … empty.”

  Stunned, Nels followed his sister and their father through the pocket doors. The scent of his father’s pipe smoke and aging paper and leather dredged up intense feelings. The royal study with its vaulted ceiling, blue-papered walls, polished cherrywood furniture, and shelves upon shelves of books had been the scene of any number of stern childhood disciplinary talks. Yet even this room seemed somehow diminished.

  You don’t have to forgive him.

  But I do have to find a way to work with him, don’t I?

  Valterri entered with a silver tray, deposited three crystal goblets and a crystal bottle of red wine on the drinks cabinet, bowed, and left. His steps on the thick Kaledanen carpets were as silent as a korva’s. The sound of pouring liquid and the tinkle of crystal punctured the quiet. Suvi took up two filled glasses. Nels accepted one of them from her and ignored the pointed look that accompanied the glass.

  “There are a number of things I wish to say to you both,” the king said. He took a sip and then wandered over to the table centered under the stained glass window on the west side of the room. “In private.”

  Nels remembered the window well. It depicted Kassarina Ilmari driving the Old Ones into the mountains. The people of Eledore—refugees from all over the continent differentiated by vari­ous skin tones, clothing, and hairstyles—were illustrated behind her. Dressed in plate armor, the stylized figure of Kassarina had no outward indication of her gender. As children, neither he nor Suvi had known that the image was intended to depict an actual event, not until they were older, and for a time, they had argued about whether the knight in the window was male or female. It had been their mother who settled the matter, and it’d been she who’d told them that particular family history, not their father. At first, Nels hadn’t known why. Nor had he understood being disappointed that the knight was a woman. Comprehension had come later.

  Watching his father gaze out that window made Nels feel sad. The king set his glass down and opened an ornate wooden box on the table. The scent of tobacco wafted up from the container as he loaded his pipe. When that was done, he went to the fireplace and lit the tobacco with a long match from the hearth. After a few puffs, he drifted back to the table and his wine.

  “I should have handled … our situation differently,” their father said. “So much is … lost.”

  “It’s all right, Papa,” Suvi said.

  Their father nodded. He stared out of the colored glass at the shadows and puffed. Nels wasn’t sure whether their father had heard Suvi and was acknowledging her or he was confirming his own thoughts. Another long silence weighed in the air, making it difficult to breathe. Their father seemed to be having trouble finding a way to express himself. That too was new. The father Nels remembered would never have been without words. Uncertain and worried, Nels wished he were in his barracks house with his arms around Ilta.

  “The new Silmaillia said we cannot hide from the truth,” their father finally ventured.

  Nels started at his father’s mention of Ilta.

  The king continued, “Eledore is on the brink of collapse. The truth is that no matter how hard we work, the Eledore that will exist in a year’s time won’t resemble the Eledore of my youth. My fear is that it won’t even resemble the Eledore we knew a year ago—if Eledore survives at all. Too much has been destroyed. There will be no retrieving what is lost. The Acrasian Regnum has cut us too deep. Too much of our lands have been stolen. Too many of our resources are gone. Too many of our people have—have fallen prey to disease and war.”

  Died, Nels thought. Father, the word you seek is “dead,” not “fallen” or “left.” They died. They didn’t vanish or pack their things and go. Although, in truth, some had—nobles who had been smart enough to read the signs.

  “We cannot win. The best we can hope for is to stall our ending.”

  “Oh, Papa,” Suvi said.

  Turning from the window, their father quieted further protest with a raised hand. “Too many years of inaction have landed us in a situation that simple solutions cannot resolve. I was irresponsible and selfish. I thought that Eledore would always be as it was. I didn’t believe that anything I did as far as governing could matter, anyway. So, I turned my attention to private entertainments. I thought great works of art would be my only legacy. Goddess forgive me, I look back at my actions now, and I honestly don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Then why discuss this?” Suvi asked.

  “The truth is … I loved your mother, but she never wanted a binding, let alone a marriage,” their father said. “However, everything had been arranged, and she was forced to honor the contract. She didn’t want me. In the end, I was angry. Insulted. For a long time, I blamed her and tried to destroy anything and everything she cared about in retaliation.”

  “What’s done is done. It isn’t important,” Suvi said.

  “It is,” their father said.

  “Mother did the best she could, but she wasn’t in love with you. She loved Veli Karpanen,” Suvi said. “Oh, please. Don’t pretend to be shocked, Papa. It’s only the three of us. And we shouldn’t lie to one another. The country can’t afford it. Anyway, Valterri is in the kitchen. And even if he wasn’t, I’m certain he’s overheard far worse over the years.” She closed her eyes as if steeling herself and then opened them.

  “It’s time for brutal realities,” Suvi said. “The world is changing, and we must change with it. Mother saw it before any of us. The future is here. It’s now. The old ways of governance won’t withstand the onslaught of new knowledge and power. As I see it, this war—this struggle, all the damage—is but a sign that Eledore must funda­mentally change in order to live in that future.”

  Their father nodded. “I—I’m sorry.”

  Suvi put down her wineglass and went to hug their father. “I know, Papa.” Once again, she gave Nels an imploring look. She mouthed the words, Please, Nels. Help me. I can’t do this alone.

  He couldn’t decide whether or not he wanted to be sick. Fed up, he downed the last of his glass of wine. People are dying, and he’s feeling sorry for himself? He’s the king! He’s the one who should be encouraging us, not the other way around!

  It was then that Nels began to understand that there was nothing godlike about their father—nothing that set him apart from anyone else. He was king due to an accident of birth and nothing more. Studying the man now, Nels suddenly understood the depth of his father’s terror. Nels had difficulty caring. However, he did care that Suvi was every bit as frightened, and as much faith as Nels had in her—as intelligent as she was—she didn’t have all the answers either. She can’t. She’s fallible too.

  She knows we must change, but she doesn’t know how to accomplish that from here.

  Flexible. We must be flexible. And if there was one thing Nels had learned since leaving the palace, it was a certain mental adaptability.

  If Suvi gives up, we are truly lost. This is no different than speaking to your company before a battle. You can do this.

  See the advantage in your experiences.

  “I think for the first time in my life, I—I understand something. Something Ilta tried to tell me,” Nels said. “My … ­magical dis­advantage taught me to think and observe in ways others didn’t have to. I approach problems from different angles because I couldn’t approach them like everyone else. That is what you must do—what we must do now. We do have enough resources if we’re cre
ative and intelligent about using them. We can survive this war. Maybe not in the way in which we’re accustomed, but we will live.”

  He got to his feet. “I’m not giving up. You shouldn’t either. As long as we have the capacity to think, we have a chance. I intend to see to it that the Acrasians will face a fight the likes of which they’ve never before seen. I’ll make sure they’ll be swiving sorry they ever came to Jalokivi.”

  FOUR

  The rain poured in chilling gusts. A thick fog clung to the wind-­sheltered valleys. With all the cloud cover, it was impossible to see much outside the city walls and had been that way for more than two weeks. A typical Eledorean autumn. Nels couldn’t hear much above the rush of water pounding stone. By the feel of it slapping his foul-weather coat, he could’ve sworn there was a shard of ice in each drop but decided it was probably only wishful thinking. Every morning he prayed for snow, and every morning it merely rained. He hunched under his tricorne and coat as he trudged along the top of Jalokivi’s outmost wall, checking on those stationed at the gatehouses. It was a habit he’d acquired through no fault of the troops. Whereas before he’d lived in fear of letting down his company, now the terror had stretched to even greater proportions. He hadn’t slept a whole night through since the day Pesola died. When he did sleep, Nels woke with a bad feeling wedged in the back of his skull.

  Wherever Pesola is, he must think himself avenged. “Good morning, Private Kurri, Lassila,” Nels said with a nod to the soldiers huddled around the fire basket. He shut the door before the wind could blow out the meager flames. The gatehouse smelled of wet wool, hot iron, and burning coals.

  Kurri and Lassila jumped up to offer a salute. “Sir!”

  Overlieutenant Larsson turned away from the arrow slit and joined the others in standing at attention. Her tight dark brown curls were black in the dim light.

  “At ease,” Nels said, returning the salute. “What’s it look like, Larsson?”

  “Same as yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. Cold soup, sir. Groop is walking the wall. His turn.” She shivered and pulled her coat tighter. “Any word?”