Dyre frowns at the thought, steadying himself by staring intensely at the shadows dancing across my skin in the candlelight, “you’ve arrived just in time. Tomorrow, or rather later today was supposed to be our wedding day, but now that you’ve found your way to me I refuse to marry Serpentina. I am yours wholly and you are mine. No one else will ever suffice. You were always meant to be the one to set me free.”
“How are we going to get out of this?” I ask, “Your stepmother will definitely return for the wedding.”
Dyre sighs in thought, “I shall challenge Serpentina to wash the shirt you dropped the spots of tallow on, reasoning that I want to make sure she is a proper wife, fit to tend to her man. She’ll of course agree, and my stepmother will as well because we both know trolls create filth instead of erasing it. She’ll know it’s a test and think I’m doing it so I can throw her sister over for her. I’ll announce that I’ll have no other for a bride than the woman who can remove the tallow from the shirt and ask you to do it.”
“Do you really think that will work?” I ask doubtfully. “I mean what if I can’t get the spots out either?”
“I believe you have the power to change people and things,” Dyre murmurs as he plants kisses along my neck and collarbone. “I know you can do it.”
“You always talk in riddles,” I sigh, the accusation sounding halfhearted. “What does that mean? I ‘have the power to change people and things’?”
“You changed me. I went from a man with a heart of stone to a love sick fool in a matter of days.” I laugh but Dyre pauses, staring at a scar on my collarbone. “What is this scar from?”
I twist to look, recognizing the scar as one of the deeper cuts from my tumble down the stairs. “Your bride’s guards threw me down the tower stairs earlier today.”
“What?” Dyre yells as rage flashes in his eyes.
“It is alright,” I place my hand on his bare chest, “I am healed now. The palace witch brewed a tonic to heal the cuts and bruises and reset my broken bones. I’m barely even sore anymore.”
“The palace witch?” Dyre echoes, looking at me in bewilderment.
“Yes,” I nod, “Magda. She lives in the cottage at the edge of the castle grounds.”
“Hel, I’m not sure who you think healed you,” Dyre says slowly, “but there is no cottage at the edge of the castle grounds. My stepmother doesn’t employ a palace witch. If she wants something done, she conjures magic on her own.”
“Then where have I been sleeping the past two days since I washed ashore?” I ask in alarm.
“I have no idea,” Dyre shakes his head. “Perhaps it was a goddess in disguise, helping you when you needed her most.”
“Maybe,” I murmur, too shocked to fully comprehend it.
“Hey,” Dyre says, drawing my attention back to him. “Everything will be alright, let us just enjoy tonight and worry about the morning when it gets here.”
“You’re right,” I agree as I draw him back down to me.
“I love you, Hel,” Dyre says as he brands me with his kiss. Trailing kisses down my neck and kissing the scar on my collarbone he adds, “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”
Morning dawns too early with neither Dyre nor I getting a wink of sleep.
“I don’t want to leave this room,” I admit as I bury my face against Dyre’s chest.
“You wish to stay in this prison forever?” Dyre asks incredulously.
“No,” I snort, “but a few hours together after so long apart is not nearly long enough.”
“I know,” Dyre agrees, “but once this is all over we’ll have our whole lives ahead of us.”
“How much longer do you think we have?” I ask as I watch the sun rise through the open curtains of Dyre’s window.
“I’ll have to get up and get dressed soon,” Dyre replies ruefully.
“I’m worried this won’t work,” I confess to Dyre’s chest.
“It will, love,” Dyre vows, “I swear it will.”
Chapter Nineteen
A short time later Dyre drags himself from the bed. I lay on my side as I watch him dress in front of me.
Dyre catches me watching him and grins, “see something you like?”
“Perhaps,” I grin as I flip onto my stomach, the sheet slipping down to my lower back.
Dyre groans, “When you look at me like that it makes it a whole lot harder to get up and leave this room.”
“At least we don’t have anyone barging in,” I point out, “I swiped the key to your bedchamber off the troll guard.
“After we pull this off, those guards are going to get what’s coming to them,” Dyre growls.
“Let’s just hope it works,” the smile fades from my face.
“It will,” Dyre answers firmly as he leans down to kiss my forehead. “I need to get down there. The wedding is set to begin in an hour so hang around here for at least three-quarters of an hour then wait outside the great hall until I call out for you.”
“Where is the great hall?” I inquire.
“Right, I forgot you don’t know your way around this castle,” Dyre shakes his head. “When you reach the corridor by the gatehouse go left until you reach the end of the corridor then turn left. Double doors made of garnet lead into the great hall. It should be safe for you to linger there until the time is right; all of the royal court, including the guards, is required to attend the ‘festivities.’”
“Alright,” I nod my understanding.
“I’ll see you soon, love,” Dyre murmurs, pausing in the doorway before leaving me all alone in the suddenly chilly bedchamber.
I wait the length of time Dyre suggested before I crawl out of bed and dress myself. I feel like I’m going into battle as I pull on my well-worn trousers and tunic before covering myself in armor. Something about Dyre’s mysterious stepmother tells me she won’t let Dyre go so easily, no matter what he thinks.
I gather my meager belongings and leave the room, hoping this will be that last time I return to it.
The palace is so quiet I feel as if I could hear the walls breathe as I navigate my way down the stairwell and through the corridors until I step in front of a set of ornate doors leading to the great hall. Dyre’s stepmother probably carved and polished the glittering garnet herself, using nothing but her vengeful mind and her presumably sharp fingernails.
I position myself in front of the doors and wait for Dyre’s cue.
Dyre senses Hel waiting on the other side of the gaudy doors his stepmother always treats like her showpiece. Instead of taking his place beside Viveka’s throne to watch his intended walk down the aisle he’d shocked everyone by walking down to her the minute she stepped through the double doors.
Now Serpentina looks at him in confusion, hissing, “This isn’t how this is supposed to go.”
Turning and gathering the rapt attention of the entire court, Dyre clears his throat so that the entire room can hear as he says, “Before this wedding may take place, I’d like to make sure what my bride is capable of.”
“Whatever could you mean?” Viveka asks, reclining on her throne and inspecting the jeweled rings on her fingers disinterestedly.
“Well, I have a fine shirt that I want for my wedding shirt,” Dyre holds the shirt up as evidence, “but some way or another I spilled three spots of tallow on it, which I need to have washed out. I think it’s only reasonable to only take a bride that is capable of taking care of all of my needs, even if we live in a castle with maids and attendants. If she can’t, then she’s not worth having in my opinion.”
“What an excellent idea,” Viveka sits up, alert and claps her hands. Dyre can guess that she’s already planning how she’ll magically clean the shirt once her sister ruins her chance. “I propose a test and there we’ll see if Serpentina is worthy of you.”
“What?” Serpentina asks, not at all understanding what is going on.
Dyre grins victoriously as Viveka orders two of her maids to carry in a wash tub from the ki
tchen. They bow obligingly and dart into the kitchen to appease their mistress.
It takes a few minutes for everything to be set up and the court buzzes with excitement and heated debates over whether Serpentina will be able to pass the test.
Viveka claps her hands again to restore silence to the court. Turning her sharp gaze on her simple-minded sister she coldly commands, “Begin.”
Dyre almost feels sorry for Serpentina as she takes hold of the stained shirt and dunks it into the tub of water. This entire time she’s only been a pawn in her powerful sister’s twisted game, but this is Dyre’s future at stake. Hel is the woman he loves and she is the only woman he is willing to spend his life with.
Serpentina slings her long nose over her shoulder as she begins scrubbing at the fabric of the shirt as hard as she can but true to Dyre’s assumption the longer she scrubs at the material the bigger the stains grow.
“Move aside,” Serpentina and Viveka’s mother yells as she wrenches the shirt from her daughter’s hands. The short, heavy, masculine woman bends over the tub muttering, “You are useless, you’ve been useless since the day you were born. You can’t wash so get out of my way, let me try.”
Dyre watches the exchange with barely concealed amusement. It isn’t a minute after the former queen has taken the shirt before it gets even filthier. As she rubs, scrubs, and wrings the shirt out the spots grow and start turning from the buttery yellow color of tallow to black poisonous looking blotches. Dyre is thankful he didn’t particularly care for the night shirt because it’s now the most hideous thing he’s ever laid eyes on, aside from the court full of trolls, that is.
Chaos ensues as the other trolls rush the tub, some wearing the red, velvety finery that distinguishes them as the higher members of court and others wearing rags or armor identifying them as the servants. Gnarly hands combat, all fighting for the shirt but the longer Viveka allows the madness to continue the worse it gets until finally the shirt is as black and ratty all over as if it had been burned in the huge oven Dyre and Hel use to melt the glass for their sculptures.
“Enough,” Dyre roars loud enough to stun the entire room into absolute silence, “that is enough! None of you are worth anything, not a single one of you can wash. Why outside this very room sits a beggar girl, and I’ll bet that she knows how to wash better than all of you.”
Viveka’s mouth drops open in the shock of Dyre’s trickery as he raises his voice, “come in, girl.”
“Come in, girl,” Dyre’s voice is so loud it rattles the crystalline doors.
Without hesitation, I kick the doors open with my foot, shattering them into thousands of tiny, glittering shards. I hold my head high as I stride into the room, my axe and my sword hanging from the belt at my waist and my bow, quiver, and shield swung fashionably over my shoulder. I force my nerves away, steeling myself. A chant replays in my mind vowing, I will be strong like the shieldmaidens and Sorena and cunning like father, Bjorn, and Donar. I will be swift and wise like Axel. And I will be utterly fearless.
Dyre grins proudly, pulling me out of my reverie, before reminding himself that he’s not supposed to know who I am. “You there girl, do you think you can wash this shirt until it’s clean?”
He gestures to a sad looking piece of fabric floating in a tub of gray water. Dyre told me earlier he’d be asking the troll-faced princess to wash the shirt I’d dripped the hot tallow on but surely that cannot be it. What have the trolls done to it?”
“I’m not sure,” I reply honestly as I wrinkle my nose at the dingy fabric, “but I think I can.”
“Wait,” an icy voice demands from the head of the room; it can only be Dyre’s stepmother. I was so focused on Dyre that I didn’t even see the fierce young queen with raven hair and skin the color of the recently dead. She sits upon a throne made of red marble with a crown of thorns and venomous snakes atop her head. Her scarlet lips and crimson dress match everything else in this great hall and the palace itself. Her heavily lined eyes narrow in hatred as she protests, “she cannot participate.”
Dyre’s smirk remains in place. Clearly he was expecting this. “As you said, this is simply a test to find me a suitable bride. Your sister and mother tried and failed, as did all the other members of your court. It’s only fair that this beggar girl be given her chance, wouldn’t you agree, stepmother?”
The young queen recoils from Dyre’s word for her. Every head in the room swivels to see what she will say. Trapped and unable to admit that she lusts for her late husband’s son she reluctantly gives in, “I suppose you are right.”
Dyre locks his emotions away behind a mask of calm indifference as he hands me the sopping wet material.
I hold it pinched between my thumb and index fingers as I dip it into the tub full of water, silently praying to the gods, please let this work.
I close my eyes as the fabric makes contact with the water. The troll court gasps collectively as I crack open one eye and then the other, finding not only the shirt now as white as untouched snow, but the water in the tub as clear as if it came from the clearest spring. I smile, playing to the crowd as if I never had a doubt that it would work, and lock eyes on Magda moving through the throng of the crowd. But now she looks different, and I see her for who she truly is; Frigg, Odin’s wife – Dyre was right all along. I’ve been smiled upon by the gods.
“Yes, you are the girl for me,” Dyre announces, projecting his voice over the shock of the crowd.
A strange, strangled cry breaks our eye contact as the troll-faced princess, Serpentina, collapses to the ground throwing a childlike tantrum. She cries and fusses and then something unbelievable happens – the princess bursts into flames. Her screams vanish as she burns to dust but the trolls begin to push and scream, wanting to get as far away from the remains of their princess as possible.
It’s no use as they combust one by one, filling the room with small, tightly contained fires that burn themselves out and leave nothing but brightly colored dust in their stead. They don’t even have time to fight it as the fires lick at their flesh and collapse their bones.
“What is going on?” I ask as I tug on Dyre’s sleeve.
“I have no idea,” Dyre shakes his head, incredulous, “but it gives us a distraction. We have to get out of here.”
Chapter Twenty
“Not so fast,” the queen’s outraged voice echoes off the stone walls. Pointing to me she orders, “Seize her!”
At least a dozen soldiers pour into the room at the queen's command armed with long double edged swords that glint under the light of the chandelier hanging overhead.
“Who are they?” I ask Dyre worriedly as they advance quickly.
“My stepmother's human guards,” Dyre replies as he retrieves my discarded bow and quiver from the floor and arms himself. He half turns to take aim at the approaching guards when I catch something out of the corner of my eye. Dyre looks powerless and horrified as he yells, “Hel, look out!”
Reacting without knowing what I’m protecting myself from, I throw my shield up over my face and head as something makes contact. I yank my axe from my belt as the queen shrieks, “I won’t let you have him.”
Backing up until I’m back to back with Dyre, I lower my shield and swing my axe at Dyre’s stepmother as Dyre lets loose a series of arrows that make targets of the guard’s unarmored chests. They fall quickly, dark red circles of blood blooming on their already red uniforms.
On the other side, I struggle to channel my father and brothers’ swordsmanship as my axe clashes with the blade of the dagger the queen has produced from thin air. I knock the young queen off balance as I swing my shield as hard as I can; her head making a sickening crack when it makes contact with the solid wood of my shield. She goes down hard, but not before kicking my feet out from under me. I trip and she’s on me in an instant.
I hold off her wavy-bladed dagger by gripping the handle of my axe firmly in between my hands. Dyre’s stepmother screams through gritted teeth as she tries to
break the handle of my axe with her blade while fending off my attempts at bucking her off of me.
A few feet away a guard sneaks up on Dyre, knocking the bow out of his hand. Dyre swings around, swiftly kicking the guard in the shins and butting the man in the head. The guard drops to the ground with a thud, unconscious. Dyre grabs the guard’s sword, looking up and assessing the situation. There are too many guards circling him for him to come to me so I shake my head at him urgently.
Dyre’s stepmother is momentarily distracted, ordering the guards, “Leave him and help me with her.”
Her moment of looking away is all I need to bring my knee and foot up and kick her middle, throwing her off of me and sending her skidding across the slippery granite floor. I leap to my feet, unsheathing the sword from my waist and brushing a lock of hair from my face with the back of my arm as I advance on Dyre’s stepmother.
The young queen is straining for her dagger, which flew from her hand in the struggle, but I send it flying clear across the floor with a single swish of my blade. The guards come at me fast but Dyre comes at them from behind, running his sword through three of them in succession.
Concluding that the queen cannot cause me any immediate harm I lunge at the nearest guard, knocking swords with him as I swing at him with the axe in my other hand. My axe rips through the flesh of his shoulder, the guard howling in pain as his sword clatters to the floor. It gives me direct access to run my sword through his abdomen, his blood spraying a splattered line across my chest as he falls lifelessly to the ground.
Spinning around, Dyre and I wipe out the rest of his stepmother’s guard like two sword wielding tornadoes. I feel as if the Valkyries are watching the battle from above and Odin himself is fighting at our sides. One guard manages to slice through the fleshy part of my thigh but I end him with a knife wound through his femoral artery. Another guard cuts through Dyre’s bicep. Dyre hisses in pain but manages to embed his sword straight through the guard’s heart. The guard grunts and is dead long before he hits the floor.
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