by Rachel Ford
This, finally, seemed to do the trick. Ingrid’s stoic expression cracked. “How have you been, brother?”
He glanced back at Cass and smiled. “Well, sister. Very well. And you?”
She smiled at Danil, and the Northman recognized the expression in her eyes, even if he didn’t understand her choice of recipient. She loved Danil, as he loved Cass. “Very well.”
“Your child is beautiful.”
“So is yours. May I see her?”
“Oh yes. Of course.” He returned to Cass’s side, and together they showed off their child. “This is Augusta.”
“A daughter? It seems a good year for daughters,” Danil smiled.
“Indeed.”
Slowly but surely, the awkwardness between siblings faded. Even Fyodor relaxed. Indeed, the Northman would have sworn he harbored less hostility toward him – the man who had tried to poison him – than toward Danil, who had only married against his will. Still, he did the one thing he’d been most dreading.
He apologized. “Tsar Fyodor, I should tell you, what I did: well, it was unpardonable. I can make no excuses. I can only apologize.”
The tsar glanced him over warily, then nodded. “You will find, Emperor Tyrgve, that I am a very forgiving man. I am not one to hold grudges. It is just not in my nature, is it dear?”
Terese shook her head. “No. You’re far too tenderhearted for that, my dear.”
Fyodor preened, and Trygve managed to keep his expression neutral. He knew the Miran tsar far too well to know that this was a lie. Fyodor was ruthless and calculating. His forgiveness was not from the goodness of his heart, but a matter of calculation. And he was pretty sure he knew exactly what calculation. The exiled son of Bjarne who had tried to murder him was now emperor of Stella. Much could be forgiven of emperors that was unforgiveable from exiled sons.
Fyodor didn’t long wait to confirm his suspicion, either. “You and I,” he told the Northman, “are practical men. We understand that men can make mistakes, that there can be – let’s say, cultural nuances and subtleties that we might miss at first.
“But we are too practical to hold grudges. We have too many interests in common, too much we could achieve together to let the past stand in the way.” Now, he clapped Trygve on the shoulder. “Grudges are for fools, not kings and emperors.”
Trygve was soon convinced that this meeting, this reunion on neutral ground, had been an excellent idea. Ingie and Lucia warmed to him almost immediately. It took Karina a little longer, but in time she threw her arms around him and declared, “I’ve missed you, brother.”
As for Gunnar, he and the other big cats were besides themselves with excitement. Indeed, they were so full of excitement that Tsarina Yuliana had had to separate them from the great, fluffy dog that trailed her, as it seemed to be getting agitated by their play. Now, she suggested with a nervous laugh, “Well, why don’t we let them outside, so they can wear off some of that energy?”
“A brilliant idea, my daughter,” Fyodor nodded. “But it is a fine summer day, and we are in lovely Taram. Why do we not all join them?”
A walk, then, was the order of the day. Trygve took Augusta, and Cass walked alongside him. Fyodor, of all people, sidled up beside them not long after.
“Do you know, your Augusta is not even a year younger than my Yuliana’s Alexander?”
He didn’t know, though he assumed they were near enough in age. “I didn’t.”
“This life – rulership – it’s a lonely one in many ways. Not many people can understand what it’s like, not unless they’ve lived it themselves. It’s a good thing that your daughter will have royal peers her own age, and so near. Why, you and Taram are neighbors.”
“Yes,” Cassia said. “Though this is the first time in many years we have visited.”
“Oh.” Fyodor seemed genuinely pained by that. “Oh, my dear, that is too bad. Well, I hope this will be the start of new and better things. You and my dear Yuliana are very near in age yourselves. I know she would love to have your friendship.
“And…” He shrugged. “Now you are both parents – you have a beautiful daughter, who will end up ruling your fair empire. And she has a strong son, who will end up tsar of Taram.” He flashed a snakelike smile. “Who can say how advantageous such a friendship may prove in the future, or where it might lead?”
It was now that another voice joined them. “It’s good to see the months haven’t dulled your appetite for schemes, Tsar Fyodor.”
Trygve glanced over to see the smiling face of Danil. When they’d met, Danil had been but a secretary and confidante of the Miran tsar’s. Ingrid had been intended for Fyodor’s son, Prince Vladimir. Things had gotten rather messy when Ingie fell for Danil, and the pair absconded right under everyone’s noses.
What the situation between the tsar and his former-servant turned political peer was now, he didn’t know for sure. But he didn’t need inside knowledge to miss the frosty atmosphere that surrounded the pair whenever they were in close quarters.
“Schemes? I’m not sure what you mean, Danil.”
“Oh, I’m only joking, of course.”
“Yes. I remember what a jester you were.”
Danil smiled again. “Of course. But I hope you, Empress and Emperor, will take him up on it. Taram is such a pretty place. I know, for our part, Ingie and I plan to visit our dear in-laws frequently. We should love to bump into you now and then. The kids already get along so well, our Åshild and Yuliana’s Alexander.”
Fyodor frowned. “Surely, such long journeys at sea are perilous to an infant’s health?”
“Oh, not at all. Åshild is a strong girl, and the sea is in her blood.”
“Well,” Trygve said noncommittally, “I’m sure we will see each other again.”
“Excellent. I look forward to it.”
“What are we looking forward to, my dear?” Ingie wondered, sidling up beside her husband. She and Lucia had been cooing over the baby, but now she joined them.
Danil lifted Åshild from her arms. “Oh, I was saying we’d love to see your brother and Cassia in the future if they visit Taram again.”
Ingrid smiled. “Yes. For now anyway, father has not relented. I don’t know if he will. He is happy, you know, that you are happy. But you know how he is: I don’t know if he will ever let you back while he lives, Tryg.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve tried – we all have.”
“Do not worry about it, Ingie. I deserve his wrath. I have your and Karina and Lucia’s forgiveness, and that is more than I could have hoped for. I am content.”
She smiled again. “It is good – so good – to see you again, brother.”
“Then it’s decided,” Danil said with a nod. “When you are free, Empress and Emperor, you must try to join us in Taram.”
Fyodor, meanwhile, was frowning. “Join you? You make it sound as if you mean to move into my daughter’s palace, Danil.”
The young man laughed. “I forgot how droll you were, Tsar. But no, Tsar Kirill has extended an invitation to us, and we are honored to accept it.”
Ingrid added, with less enthusiasm than her husband, “Provided our duties at home allow it.”
Fyodor nodded briskly. “You are a good daughter, my dear: mindful of the responsibilities of rule. I hope – very much – that you will be able to get away once in a while.” Now, he turned to Trygve. “But you are nearer. There is no sea dividing your people and my daughters. I hope they will see you regularly. I’m sure, as Alexander and Augusta get older, they will appreciate the company.”
“That,” Danil declared airily, “is one of the inducements for Ingie and I as well.”
“It is?” his wife asked.
He ignored the question. “We want to make sure our Åshild grows up knowing her peers. It’s important, I think. We’re in a new and enlightened age. It is vital that our children grow up as friends. And…” He shrugged. “As you say, Fyodor, who can say wha
t Frigg has in store, when boys and girls become men and women?”
Ingrid sighed, and Fyodor’s frown deepened. “Mirvara, they’re a little young to be planning weddings, aren’t they?”
“Who said anything about planning weddings?” the young man countered.
“No one is planning our daughter’s wedding,” Ingrid declared firmly, “except our daughter.”
“Exactly.” Danil smiled. “Of course, a very wise man once taught me that there’s nothing quite so reliable as the hormones of young people to arrange matters how we want them. Although…” He glanced at Ingie with a grin. “It turned out, he was not as wise as I thought – or he thought. Still, the point remains: with a little light-handed guidance, young people can form matches that will lead to their happiness – and their parents’.”
Ingrid groaned, and Fyodor sputtered. “You…you presume to…to sic your daughter on my grandson?”
“To what?” Ingrid demanded.
Terese laid a hand on her husband’s arm. “What the tsar means is children must be allowed to follow their own hearts. As you know only too well, Ingrid. It’s not right to try to force something like that on anyone. Love must blossom on its own.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have it any other way, Tsarina.” Danil shrugged. “I simply mean to allow love to have a chance.”
Fyodor clenched and unclenched his jaw. “You must know, the North and Taram are already tied through my son. Our pact, our strength as partners in ruling this continent, would be unbreakable if Stella could claim such a link to Taram as well.”
“Not this again, Father,” Yuliana’s voice sighed from behind them. The tsarina had been walking toward the group, but on hearing their conversation seemed to be reconsidering. “I told you, no more of your schemes. Alexander will marry when and if he decides, and who he decides. No one will force him into anything he doesn’t want.”
“Of course, my darling girl. I am not talking of forcing anyone. I am only talking of young people getting to know each other.”
Cassia, now, caught Trygve’s eye. “I am honored, of course, Tsar Fyodor. But our children are still in diapers. They have many years to find their partners.”
“Of course.” He laughed airily. “Of course. I apologize, my dear. I am old. And when you are old, you get in the habit of organizing the future in your head because you know you may not see it any other way. Forgive me.” Then, he locked eyes with Danil, and his tone took on a sharper, more menacing edge. “Things will play out how they play out.”
The secretary smiled, a thin-lipped, predatory smile. “Oh, they will. Frigg’s will be done.”
“Exactly so. Exactly so.” The two men remained in place for a moment, eyes locked on one another.
And for the first time in over a year, Trygve had the very real feeling that he was not the only one present who had seriously contemplated regicide.
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About the Author
Award winning author Rachel Ford is a software engineer by day, and a writer most of the rest of the time. She is a Trekkie, a video-gamer, and a dog parent, owned by a Great Pyrenees named Elim Garak and a mutt of many kinds named Fox (for the inspired reason that he looks like a fox).
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