“I still know so little about you,” I comment as I bite into the roll. My mouth explodes with an array of flavors. A delicate spice is kneaded into the dough and I catch a taste as I chew the bite I’ve taken.
“What is it you wish to know?” the polar bear asks as he samples his own meal.
“A name would be nice, for starters,” I grin.
“Ah yes, your obsession with learning my name still lingers,” the polar bear remarks wryly.
“Why don’t you want to tell me what it is?” I inquire.
The polar bear’s right shoulder jerks once in a shrug, “no reason really, I just feel that my name is of no importance.”
“It would give me something to call you,” I point out.
“True,” the polar bear concedes. He goes silent, not uttering so much as a word for so long I think he’s not going to answer me at all. He takes a bite of the lutfisk on his plate and chews agonizingly slow. Finally, he utters a single word, “Dyre.”
“Dyre,” I echo to test it out on my lips. “I like it.”
Dyre’s mouth quirks up in a half smile as he reaches clumsily for the goblet of fruity liquid that seems to accompany every meal at the palace, “it is alright I suppose. My mother chose it.”
“Did you really grow up here in this palace?” I ask as I sip from my own goblet.
Dyre nods, “of course.”
“What was it like growing up here?”
A strange look crosses Dyre’s face. “It was a lot different than it is now. There was always something going on, people arriving and departing, laughter and joy all around. I had an enjoyable youth.”
“What happened that everything changed?” I ask. “Where did all the people go?”
Dyre frowns, his face taking on a look so dark he resembles the monsters of the stories from my own childhood. “Nearly six years ago a dark presence entered the palace walls and stole all the joy and laughter. I do not wish to dwell on that tonight though.”
“But–” I begin but Dyre cuts me off.
“I mean it, Hel,” Dyre says firmly as his paw curls into a fist. “Let’s not spoil tonight.”
I nod agreeably and change the subject, “how old are you exactly? It’s hard to tell.”
“I’ve walked this earth for twenty-one years,” the polar bear answers. “How old are you, Hel of the dead?”
“Eighteen.”
“Is there anything else you wish to know, Hel?” Dyre asks as he swishes the liquid in his goblet around leisurely.
“Why did you ask me to come here?” I ask.
“Maybe I was hopeful that there could be joy and laughter in the palace once again,” Dyre looks up from his plate and locks eyes with me. I swallow hard as we continue to stare at each other in the growing silence; the hungry look in Dyre’s eyes eats me alive and fills me with unexpected warmth.
The next morning I float down the stairs eager to see Dyre. Between the dinner he arranged for me last night and my nightly visit from my spectral sleeping companion, I feel like something has shifted inside me. I don’t know how it is possible but I’m starting to feel something for Dyre. My heart races at the idea of seeing him this morning, overlooking the fact that he’s a polar bear that bribed me into coming to stay with him in this gloomy palace.
When I enter the great hall I find Dyre waiting for me and I feel my face light up.
“Morning,” I say brightly.
“Morning, Hel,” Dyre smiles at me briefly as he gathers something on the other end of the table.
“Is everything alright?” I ask as I sit down at the table.
“Yes, of course,” Dyre replies distractedly. His mood has completely changed since our dinner in the solarium last night. “I have some business to attend to outside of the palace today, so I’ll have to leave straight away.”
“Oh,” I say; the disappointment evident in my voice.
Catching my tone, Dyre looks up, “Don’t worry, I shall return by this evening. You’ll barely know I’m gone.”
“Okay,” I mumble.
“Maybe this evening you’ll let me see the sculpture you finished last night,” Dyre comments as he straightens a stack of papers, which Gustav immediately materializes and takes from him before disappearing into the mist. “It’ll give us both something to look forward to.”
“Only if you promise to return soon,” I concede. “This will be the first time I’m here in the palace by myself.”
“You won’t be alone,” Dyre points out, “the staff is here if you need them.”
“I guess,” I frown.
“Hey,” Dyre says, working his way around the table and cupping my chin in his paw, “I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay,” I nod.
I lied to her, Dyre thinks, annoyed at himself as he passes through the barrier of magic that protects the palace and keeps it hidden from sight.
He didn’t mean to, but the lie just slipped past his lips. Last night he’d seen something change in Hel’s eyes. Hel was allowing herself to like him, maybe even as something more than a friend and it scared Dyre.
What if Hel did fall in love with him but she found out about his curse or about the real way her former love had perished. That in itself confused him. Why did Hel think the man she had loved had perished on foreign soil? Who had told her that? The person that had left the man in the poor shape he stumbled through the barrier in? Was Hel in some sort of danger? He'd kill before he would let anything happen to her.
In fact, Dyre would do just about anything for Hel, but then this morning instead of staying and spending the day with her, he'd panicked and told her he had business away from the palace. Now he ran, trying to put as much distance between himself and the woman he was falling in love with as possible.
Love. The thought stuns him and freezes him where he stands. Yes, Dyre realizes, he does love Hel.
Lost in that thought Dyre neglects to hear the snippets of conversation or the crunching of boots stomping on twigs just beyond the tree cover; he doesn’t notice the two hunters spotting him out in the open without protection, and he’s stunned by the sudden searing hot pain in his fur covered wrist as an arrow carves right through the leg of his polar bear form.
He growls through the pain at his inability to pull the arrow out with his paw as he rises onto his back legs.
The hunters step into the open to take another shot at the vulnerable creature in front of them and make a fatal mistake as Dyre charges at them angrily, a red film appearing over his eyes. It’s only as he sees the blood staining his white fur and the sightless gazes of the hunters that he realizes what he has done.
Disgusted with himself, Dyre limps back to the palace on his back legs as he holds his wounded arm out in front of him.
I step out of the studio into the receiving hall with the intention of scrounging up a snack in the kitchen. Gustav flickers into the room and I lift my hand to wave my greeting but he doesn’t see me. Instead, he races down the corridor to the palace entrance.
A heavy stone of worry settles in the pit of my stomach as I race after him to see what’s going on.
I catch up to Gustav just as the palace guards assist Dyre back into the safety of the palace. Bright red blood stains his white coat and an arrow sticks out of one of his front legs. I gasp involuntarily at the sight of him.
Dyre looks up at me and grimaces, “it’s not as bad as it looks. Most of this blood isn’t even mine.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” I tell him as I rush to his side. Gustav and the guards try to stop me but Dyre shrugs off their concern. “Here, let me see.”
Dyre silently holds out his arm for me to inspect. Back home, Axel and Father always came to me when one of our animals was in distress but right now that seems like an inappropriate comparison. I gently push at the fur around the arrow’s entry wound and determine that the arrow most likely went straight into the muscle and avoided the bones in his front leg.
“We need to get him to his
chambers,” Gustav insists.
“I can help with his injury,” I tell him.
Gustav sighs impatiently, “The guards will go with you to get what you need and bring you up to Dyre’s chambers. Don’t worry; I’ll take him with me. It will be easier and quicker on him.”
“I’m fine,” Dyre groans, “you don’t need to fuss over me.”
“Let Gustav take you where you need to go,” I urge. “I’ll be with you as quickly as I can.”
Gustav nods gratefully as he loops his arm through Dyre’s and they disappear into mist.
I turn to the guards and say, “I need boiling water from the kitchen and bring some clean cloths too.”
A young guard with wide, worried eyes nods and races for the kitchen; meanwhile, I run to the strange herb filled room I found when I first arrived at the palace. I quickly locate a bundle of yarrow hanging from the ceiling to dry out and rejoin the guards in the corridor.
“I’m ready,” I tell them. “Where are Dyre’s chambers?”
“Follow me, milady,” the young guard that went to fetch a pot of boiling water from the kitchen urges me to follow him up the stairwell. The other guards bow and retreat to their stations at the palace entrance.
When the guard and I reach the landing at the top of the grand staircase, the guard nudges a space in the wall with his elbow revealing a servant’s stairwell. I follow closely behind as he ducks into the dark stairwell and hurries up the stairs as carefully as he can to avoid spilling the water in the large pot he carries. I try to gauge how far up we’re traveling by how many landings we pass but it’s hard as I struggle to keep up with the quick-footed guard.
Finally, the guard stops and pushes at the wall with his arm and we enter a small study. The guard presses on undeterred and moves through the doorway into another room. I blink in the sudden brightness as we step into Dyre’s bedchamber. A roaring fire flickers in a massive fireplace carved out of stone to look like the fire is within the mouth of Heimdall, the god of light.
Across from the imposing fireplace sits a massive four-poster bed carved from white ash wood and carved with intricate symbols and dragon heads like the ones that guard the bow of the drakkars my father and brothers travel on. Sprawled across the great bed is Dyre, looking very much like a hibernating bear.
A painful moan slips past Dyre’s lips and breaks the silence in the room as Gustav cuts off the end of the arrow and dislodges it from the underside of Dyre’s front leg.
“Wait,” I interrupt, “you must put pressure on the wound.”
Gustav pauses as I grab a clean cloth from the guard and place it firmly against the underside of Dyre’s leg. His eyes flutter open and closed as I allow Gustav remove the rest of the arrow from Dyre’s leg.
“Apply heavy pressure to both wounds while I prepare the cleansing wash,” I instruct Gustav.
“What’s in it?” Gustav inquires as I crumble the dried yarrow tops and infuse the water with them.
“Yarrow, for quick healing,” I explain as I dab both sides of the wound with the infused water. The bleeding begins to slow to a stop as I place yarrow leaves over Dyre’s fur and wrap them tightly around Dyre’s front leg. I hold them in place for half a minute and when I’m satisfied that the bleeding has stopped I rip a strip of cloth from the rags the guard carried up and bandage Dyre’s leg, securing the wrapping at the back of his leg with a tight knot. I meet Dyre’s eyes, which thankfully look more alert than when he was first led into the palace. “You’ll need to have these wrappings changed twice a day, but the wound should heal fully within a week.”
“You saved me,” Dyre murmurs. “I thank you; I will forever be in your debt.”
“It was a simple remedy,” I brush off his praise, feeling embarrassed by the attention.
“I will never forget it,” Dyre vows. Dismissing Gustav and the guard he says, “I will be in good hands here, thank you for coming to my aid.”
“Of course sire,” Gustav and the guard reply before disappearing from Dyre’s bedchamber.
“So this is where you sleep,” I comment once we’re alone. Everything in the room is wood or stone, a far cry from the opulent gold and silver furnishings of my bedchamber.
“I don’t sleep here,” Dyre answers tiredly.
“You don’t?” I ask, my brows furrowing in confusion. “Then where do you sleep?”
Dyre’s eyes widen and he backtracks, “well yes, this is my bedchamber, but what I meant to say is I don’t sleep much at all. I tend to wander a lot during the night.”
“Like Heimdall, then,” I tease as I gesture to the stone fireplace staring back at us.
Dyre laughs, “sure, like Heimdall, himself.”
Chapter Seven
After the sun disappears for the night and Dyre’s eyes flutter closed, I return to my own bedchamber, too exhausted to worry about eating. I crawl onto the bed and grab the book I borrowed from the library, flipping through it quickly.
The book contains all sorts of maps: maps of Scandinavia, maps of England and Frankia, maps of places I’ve never heard of before. In the margins of the book are scribbled notes about courses of travel that could be used to reach some of the places as well as notes about trips to some of the more recognizable places. As my eyes flick through the pages I wonder briefly who this book belonged to. Whoever it belongs to has definitely traveled extensively. I long to see some of the things this wanderer has laid eyes on.
My eyes begin to droop from reading when Gerda materializes next to the fireplace carrying a dinner tray.
“You didn’t come down for dinner,” Gerda accuses.
“I’m sorry, I was tired and wanted to rest,” I explain as I set the book aside.
“I hear you had a busy afternoon,” Gerda comments. “You saved Dyre’s life.”
“I merely bandaged a wound,” I correct.
Gerda hums disapprovingly. “I’ve brought you dinner. Dyre insists you eat something.”
“It was kind of you to bring it to me,” I say awkwardly as Gerda sets a bowl of stew and some hot tea on the bedside table.
“I hope you enjoy your meal,” Gerda says, a strange smile appearing on her face as she fades into mist.
I shake my head and chalk it up to yet another weird encounter with the unsociable maid before disappearing back into my book. Distractedly I reach for the steaming liquid in the porcelain teacup and take a small sip. I’ve never favored tea, much preferring the honey drinks or mead back home or the fruity drinks that accompany so many meals here at the palace.
My mouth puckers at the tart tea and I wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve. A bitter taste clings to the back of my throat and I try to swallow it away but my throat feels swollen.
I reach across the bed for the pitcher of water on the other bedside table and hastily pour myself a cup of water as I cough violently. My hand shakes as the water splatters into the cup. I sip the water but something red mixes with the water. A coppery taste in my mouth tells me it is blood.
My head swims and the room spins as I grasp for the silver bell Dyre gave me when I first arrived at the palace. Darkness creeps into the corners of my vision as I struggle to reach the bell, just slightly out of reach. I’m fighting to stay awake as it hits me; there was something in the tea.
Dyre awakens from his nap as the waning moon rises in the sky outside his bedroom window. The shift between his two forms occurred while he was unconscious, he realizes as he wakes up in his human form bare-chested clad in only a loose pair of woolen pants.
He scrubs his hands over his face and changes into his night clothes before slipping from his room. Traveling through the secret corridors and channels that will lead him to Hel’s room, Dyre flexes his arm. It already feels nearly healed from Hel tending to it.
Dyre pops open the secret door in the wall next to the Hel’s room and steps into the corridor. The palace is so quiet at night, not even his attendants move about. As he lets himself into Hel’s room he immediately realizes tha
t something is very wrong.
Hel is lying face down on top of the bed, still clothed in the dress she’d been wearing earlier in the day. One of her arms is stretched out in front of her reaching for something just out of her grasp.
Dyre moves around the bed to Hel’s side and discovers her eyes are closed and her lips are shockingly red, a thin trickle of blood trailing from the corner of her mouth. Dyre’s mind instantly leaps to the possibility Hel was poisoned.
“Hel!” Dyre shouts as he shakes her and rolls her onto her back. She doesn’t stir as he lays his head to her heart and listens for her heartbeat. Hel’s heart beats erratically in her chest.
“Gerda, come,” Dyre summons Hel’s personal attendant but after several excruciatingly long minutes pass and Gerda does not appear he’s forced to call upon his trusted friend Gustav and Rana, the slightly older female attendant who had fussed over him like a mother would ever since the passing of his own mother.
“Sire?” Rana questions nervously as she appears in Hel’s room, quickly followed by Gustav.
“There’s something wrong with Hel,” Dyre pulls her into his arms, “I fear she might have been poisoned.”
“No,” Rana gasps as her skin pales in the candlelight.
“Let me see,” Gustav moves closer. Dyre pauses, gathering Hel closer to his chest but allows Gustav to inhale Hel’s shallow breath. Gustav pulls away, eyes widened in horror. “It’s as I fear. We must act quickly.”
“What is it?” Dyre asks worriedly. “Is it poison?”
“Indeed,” Gustav nods, “deadly nightshade.”
Dyre’s heart jumps to his throat, “can she be helped?”
Gustav and Rana exchange a nervous look. “There is an herb we can boil down and give her that will hopefully counteract the poison, but there’s no time to lose.”
“Do we have the herb in the palace?” Dyre demands to know.
“Yes, sire,” Rana nods eagerly. “It’s in the apothecary.”
“Get it, quickly,” Dyre orders. “Do whatever you have to do to save her.”
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