A Fire of Roses

by Melinda R. Cordell

  She looked so different in her fine clothes, with her hair braided like that, that Dyrfinna couldn’t help but stare. But that voice, Dyrfinna would have recognized it anywhere.

  “Well,” said Gefjun. “Look at what the cat dragged in.”

  As astonished and gobsmacked as she was, Dyrfinna had enough presence of mind to drop to one knee.

  Gefjun stopped dead halfway across the floor. “Finna, don’t you dare ….”

  Dyrfinna bowed her head. “Gefjun, friend, sister, please. I beg forgiveness—”

  “No! Stop right there,” Gefjun snapped. “Do not even start that. What you took away you can’t give back.”

  “I beg forgiveness for my acts ….”

  “No! I said no!”

  “… if I could take back what I did, I would ….”

  “Shut up! Just shut up, you selfish wench.”

  Gefjun’s voice rang off the walls.

  Dyrfinna reeled as if she’d been slapped. She abruptly stood.

  Gefjun took a step back, shaking her head. Then she took a deep breath and crossed her arms. “Don’t force your apologies on me. Don’t ever do that.”

  Dyrfinna cleared her throat. “Gefjun,” she said, her voice catching. “I grieve for you and I grieve for what I’ve done. You don’t have to forgive me. But let me try to make up for what I’ve done.”

  “No,” Gefjun cried. And she took a shuddering breath. “There’s nothing you can do. Nothing. You murdered Ostryg right in front of me.”

  “I paid the blood price to Papa Ostryg,” she said.

  “You stupid idiot,” Gefjun said. “That won’t do a bit of good and you know it. And his papa never cared whether my honey lived or died. That was stupid.”

  Dyrfinna shrugged helplessly.

  “You stand there and you’re all fine.” Gefjun’s voice went hoarse. “But every time I close my eyes I see him. I see him the way he died. I see his eyes bugging out, I see all the blood. All his blood. Finna, you did this to me. You took away every good memory of my love, because all I can see is what he looked like when he died.”

  Dyrfinna wiped her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, stupidly. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Well. Think about what it’s like to be me.”

  Dyrfinna tried to clear her head.

  “How did you get here?” she asked. “Mama said my ship had been stolen. Taken. And you were on that ship. What happened to you? How’d you get here?”

  “None of your business,” Gefjun snapped. “Except Rjupa and Skeggi are … dead.”

  Dyrfinna caught her breath. “No! No! They can’t be!”

  “Oh, yes. Because you had to kill my sweetheart and get thrown out. You probably could have gotten us out of the trap that they sprung on us. But you had to be an idiot!”

  Her voice rang off the walls.

  They were both crying.

  “What happened to them?” Dyrfinna cried.

  “I relive that every day, too,” Gefjun said. “You’ve broken up the old gang very well, haven’t you? Killed all our old friends.”

  “I didn’t kill them!”

  “Not directly, but good enough.”

  Dyrfinna shook her head, forcing herself to stay focused. She could’t start screaming and yelling at Gefjun now. Even if the news about Skeggi and Rjupa hit her hard. Even if all she could think about now was that last awful embrace that Skeggi had deigned to give her before her so-called papa had flown her away to her dragon isle to die.

  “Please.” Dyrfinna took a deep breath. “Gefjun. My sister is here. Aesa, they stole her. On a dragon. I chased her here but I need to get to her.”

  “She’ll be fine here,” Gefjun snapped, glaring at her with ice-blue eyes. “She doesn’t need you. You’d probably just get her killed anyway.”

  Don’t lose your temper don’t lose your temper don’t lose your temper

  Dyrfinna took a deep breath. Counted to ten once again.

  “Papa Ostryg stole her,” she told Gefjun. “He stole her and brought her here on one of King Varinn’s dragons.”

  “I know,” Gefjun said smugly.

  Dyrfinna felt every drop of blood drain from her face. Her mouth fell open.

  “What are you saying?” Her voice went low and deadly.

  Gefjun laughed once, hard. “Papa Ostryg came here. He told me about how you had emberdragons by the score that you weren’t sharing. For once, he was very sympathetic to my plight. So I lent him a dragon, and he brought both you and Aesa right to me.”

  Dyrfinna took a shuddering breath.

  Her hand gripped the hilt of her sword.

  “How could you do that to my baby sister, you witch!” Dyrfinna cried.

  Gefjun lashed out at her with song. A binding spell. Dyrfinna knew what it was as soon as she heard it, but she was already spiderwebbed, and it fit tightly over her with no way to wiggle free. Unable to stand, she fell ignobly to the floor.

  Dyrfinna’s scream of rage was cut short by the magic.

  She could breathe, but she couldn’t move. She could blink her eyelids. She tried to scream again but nothing came out. Nothing. Just hissing air.

  “Yeah, that sounds a lot better,” Gefjun said, so much like Ostryg that Dyrfinna cringed inwardly. “So. How’s that feel? To have someone you love more than anything taken away from you, taken right out of your hands, and you’re helpless to…”

  She broke off. A moment later, she turned on Dyrfinna with scorn in her eyes. “I hope you can appreciate what I’m feeling right now.”

  Dyrfinna fought to speak. She’s only five years old! She wanted to shout. She’s only a little girl, and you’ve ripped her away from Mama for this?

  Gefjun walked leisurely up to Dyrfinna and stooped over her, looking over her sword.

  “Well,” she said, unbuckling her sword-belt. “Here’s the instrument that killed many a man and kept many warriors from coming home.”

  She pulled Dyrfinna’s sword from its scabbard, threw the scabbard aside, and read the runes that ran down its shining blade.

  “None shall pass through me. Well, I got through you.” Her eyes started turning red-rimmed as she stared at the sword. “You, who cut away the spirit of my own love,” she said, her voice breaking.

  And her face crumpled.

  She flung the sword aside as if it were a poisonous snake. It skittered across the stone floor with a discordant ring.

  Dyrfinna rolled her eyes around, tried to kick, tried to scream at her. Her body just lay there, inert. Oh, Freyja, what she would have given to speak!

  Gefjun tried to give her a snarky smile, but couldn’t manage, and broke off into disgust, shaking her head.

  “I’ll have one of my servants take that to the smithy when we’re done,” she snapped at Dyrfinna. “I’d take you myself so you can watch your sword melting. But no. You’d probably do something in the smithy where you use the anvil and tongs as weapons, and then take out a lot of my soldiers before you escape. So, nah. I’ll just have it done myself and tell you about it later.”

  Papa had that sword made for me when he still loved me, Dyrfinna tried to say. Her lips moved, but nothing came out.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know your sword’s history. Don’t care. You used it to kill Ostryg. That sword is done.” Her voice broke again.

  Just then the door behind the throne opened.

  “Juni?” a man asked from the shadows.

  She cleared her throat, wiped her eyes dry. “Come on in, my dear,” Gefjun said in a gentle voice.

  The exact same way she used to speak to Ostryg.

  Dyrfinna’s stomach dropped. No. No way.

  The door opened.

  A Moorish man strolled in wearing white clothes with gold trim, a red cloak trimmed in ermine, and a sword with a jeweled scabbard and hilt. His skin was the deepest black, like a raven, and his medium length hair was in ringlets. And a golden circlet nestled in his hair.

  Not Ostryg, obviously. But King Varinn.

&
nbsp; “Your majesty,” said Gefjun with a happy little bow.

  Dyrfinna would have raised an eyebrow if she could have. So, you’re really missing Ostryg? I couldn’t tell, she thought bitterly.

  “Is this the young woman in question?” Varinn asked, looking at Dyrfinna lying on the floor. Not frowning, just curious.

  “Yes, unfortunately.” Victory in her face as she gazed down at Dyrfinna.

  Dyrfinna sneered at Gefjun.

  “Uh-huh,” said Gefjun. “I didn’t expect you to understand.”

  “So is this your friend?”

  “No,” Gefjun said, cold. “She’s not my friend. Not this month. Not ever.”

  “I understand. Nice to meet you, Dyrfinna,” said King Varinn. His deep voice was smooth, his actions courtly. “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances. It would have been more honorable to meet you on the field of battle.”

  Dyrfinna struggled to speak. Aesa, she mouthed. Help Aesa.

  Gefjun shook her head hard at her, her eyes narrow.

  “So what do you need to have done with her?” King Varinn asked Gefjun.

  “Oh, I’ll throw her into the old cat room for the time being. I’ll have the room prepared. We can send her there.”

  Dyrfinna tried to plead with her eyes. Aesa. Let me go to Aesa.

  She heard again her little sister’s crying, and she trembled. Trembled all over though she had been bound.

  Suddenly her voice worked, and she croaked, “Aesa.”

  Gefjun’s eyes widened. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t you dare.” She sang out again against Dyrfinna. This time, King Varinn joined his voice to hers.

  The magic fell over her, binding her. Now Dyrfinna couldn’t even tremble.

  “Did you see how she broke out of my singing? Just like that.” Gefjun shook her head.

  “You know some interesting people.”

  Just then a servant opened the door to the throne room. “The room is ready,” she said.

  “Thank goodness.” Gefjun flapped her hand at Dyrfinna. “Take this human garbage away. Just so you know, Aesa is going to be just fine, now get out of my sight. Servant, grab that sword and scabbard and have both melted down for me, if you’d be a dear.”

  “Come with me,” King Varinn said. “Breakfast is nearly ready. You’ll see some excellent dining this morning. Maybe you’ll be tempted enough to eat a little of it.” His voice went soft, and his eyes met hers.

  Dyrfinna’s eyes went wide.

  Gefjun saw Dyrfinna and her eyes narrowed with scorn. She accepted his hand and turned her back.

  The servants dragged Dyrfinna through the hall and into a small, stuffy room where a small fire flickered sullenly in a grated fireplace. The chimney was too narrow for her to crawl up it. The room had a pallet for sleeping, and a narrow window high up in the wall. A faint glow came from that window. The sun must have risen outside. A basket next to the small bed held a loaf of bread and a jug of water beside it. From where she lay on the ground, she could see a chamber pot under the bed.

  The room smelled of cat pee, too, but Dyrfinna couldn’t sneeze, still bound by Gefjun’s spell. She lay there, her nose running and itching.

  The servant went to the door, sang a short phrase, and shut the door behind her.

  Dyrfinna sneezed three times. At last she could move. Shaking, she drew to her feet. She tried to speak, but only a whisper of air came out. She tried to sing but choked. Then she sneezed again.

  So apparently enough magic remained to paralyze her vocal cords. Just great. Calling the emberdragon back was not going to happen any time soon. Not that she could have addressed the emberdragon for all the sneezing she was doing.

  Dyrfinna checked her pockets and clothes. Gefjun had taken her sword, but she still had a dagger hidden in her boot. Rather careless of them.

  She ate the bread, because she needed whatever strength she could get, and assessed her position, sneezing and sniffling.

  Gefjun was with the enemy now, for whatever reason.

  Aesa was here.

  And Dyrfinna’s captured crew was possibly here. Which meant that maybe her ship was here too, unless Varinn had enough warriors handy to man it and send it back out into the war.

  She was sure Gefjun kept her voice paralyzed so she couldn’t sing. Maybe she could find a dear friend of hers among the captured who could sing for her, so she could call the emberdragon, and orchestrate their escape.

  Dyrfinna had some time to think. She threw herself on the pallet with yet another. Time enough to wash her fresh wounds, get some well-deserved sleep, and prepare herself.

  Interesting that Gefjun had not thrown her straight into the dungeon. Something was afoot. But what had happened to Gefjun? Why was she here?

  And Skeggi and Rjupa—were they really dead?

  Her heart trembled.

  No. No. She couldn’t think about that. Gefjun had to be lying to her. Had to be. She couldn’t think about that at all. She could find it out for herself. Get that news from a trustworthy source.

  Aesa’s picture was still in her shirt. Dyrfinna pulled it out, looking at her and Aesa on their seedpod, rays coming out of their heads, having all those adventures together. She remembered the hug Aesa had given her. She drew courage from that.

  She had to find the right opportunity to escape and rescue her little sister, or die trying.

  “It’s going to happen, Sugarbug,” she said. “I am going to get out of this. I am going to find what’s left of my ship’s crew. And I’m going to bring you home with me. I swear.”

  Dyrfinna kissed the picture.

  “I swear it on my life.”

  12

  Delicious Fish Platter

  Gefjun

  At breakfast, Varinn was very thoughtful as he ate his herring, eggs, and bread. “I was impressed by how the woman who is not your friend came riding in on that dragon. Wasn’t that incredible?”

  Gefjun didn’t reply. She drank a little sip of what Varinn called coffee, a bitter Moorish drink. He’d told her that the drink had originated in the Kingdom of Aksum and had spread with their empire out of Ethiopia and Eritrea. Varinn’s forefathers had brought it with them when they had moved to Iberia.

  “Don’t you love that coffee? Especially in this fantastically cold place,” he said, taking a sip. “Not many people have coffee in this part of the world, but that’s fine. That means more for me.” He smiled over his little cup.

  Gefjun did too. The coffee drink was bitter, but oh, she loved how her brain woke up when she took a drink of it.

  “Put a little milk in it,” Varinn suggested.

  Gefjun shrugged, because she was eating fast. “I’m going to take my coffee with me, if you don’t mind. Forgive me, sir, for my hurry. I want to get back and check on Aesa before she wakes up.”

  “By all means. I understand how that is,” he said, his face softening.

  Gefjun’s heart went out to him.

  “I need to have a proper conversation with your friend,” Varinn said, setting down his drink. “I mean, she-who-is-not-your-friend,” he added when Gefjun glared at him. “Would you mind?”

  Well, Dyrfinna is back, Gefjun thought. Time for me to get swept back under the rug again.

  “Mind or not mind, what does it matter?” she said, cleaning up her plate. “You’re the king.”

  Just then Papa Ostryg strolled in for breakfast.

  Gefjun scowled. Papa Ostryg was supposed to be heading home on his horse, but here he was, strolling in for breakfast like he owned the place. Knowing him, he probably couldn’t pass up free food, even though he could well afford a big feast at home.

  He sat down across the table from Gefjun.

  Well, that was a little awkward.

  Make that a lot awkward. Papa Ostryg still looked a green from that great kick in the jewels she’d dealt him earlier. She definitely didn’t want to share any kind of space with him whatsoever. “Aesa might be waking up,” Gefjun said. “I need to be in
the room so she doesn’t get scared.”

  “Why don’t you put her in the same room with Dyrfinna?” Papa Ostryg sneered. “Then you can stay with me and we could talk, vixen.”

  Gefjun was not interested in either idea, not in the least. Even though it sounded like a very good idea to bring Aesa to Finna, she just didn’t want to, and she wasn’t in a mood to analyze why.

  I don’t want to eat breakfast with you, she wanted to say. You could have found a better way to bring Dyrfinna here, you bag of turds.

  She nearly spoke aloud, but Varinn must have seen the look on her face. He raised an eyebrow at her.

  She hid her sigh and took a good-sized bite of her bread so she wouldn’t have to talk.

  Papa Ostryg gave her the evil eye, then chuckled. “I did what you wanted, and that is how you repay me. If you want to cross me, Missy, I swear to you that you’ll feel my wrath.”

  “Okay,” she said around her mouthful of bread. In her mind, she was busy reviewing that look on his face when she kicked him in the jewels.

  Papa Ostryg lowered his voice. “You think you’re sitting pretty in this fine keep, with the king making googly eyes at you? Even a palace of stone won’t last. Even the best built house will burn. Even the most beautiful keep will fall into ruin.”

  “If you’re going to threaten me, you shouldn’t threaten me in front of the king,” she said.

  But the king was now talking to one of his commanders, who had just come in a moment ago and seemed to have some urgent news.

  Papa Ostryg made a rude sound. “No, girlie, you ruined it for your good kingie. I saw his smile when you kicked me last night. He’ll have cause to regret that, too.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t you sass me,” Papa Ostryg hissed. “I know where everybody you love in Skala lives. I can make so many of their lives hell if you choose not to apologize.”

  “I’m sorry I kicked you. That was so rude of me,” she said, giving him a sparkly-eyed fake smile.

  “I don’t mean that kind of apology,” he said. “I mean this kind.”

  He slid his hand down to his crotch and sneered at her.

  Gefjun froze in shock. Froze dead right there, unable to move.