A knock on the door pulled her from her musings. “Come in if you can,” she said, disgruntled. She heard the key turn, and the door opened to reveal the critical stare of Captain Bergstrom.
“Well, it’s better than I hoped,” he said. The sheer disappointment in his voice raised her hackles.
“Excuse me for not being more regal.”
Bergstrom’s brows arched. “I was referring to your figure. I brought you these, but perhaps you don’t need them after all.” He extended one hand that held some long strips of linen.
Inge immediately recognized that they were meant to bind her chest. For all his primness earlier, Bergstrom didn’t appear in the least embarrassed at presenting such objects.
“I’m masculine enough already?” she asked.
A faintly amused expression crossed his face. “You’re too scrawny to be called masculine.”
With a grumble, Inge snatched the bands and brushed past him into the hallway. “I don’t understand why it’s so necessary to prolong the king’s delusions.”
“It’s more necessary than you might think,” said Bergstrom, who never seemed to lose his composure. “A deluded monarch becomes erratic when he’s disobeyed. I’m following his orders in this and all matters, and I suggest you do the same. This way, please.”
A stony silence settled between them as he led her down one corridor and up another. He stopped at a narrow door and gestured her to pass into the room beyond.
“Are you going to lock me in here now?” she asked suspiciously.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” he replied with a thin smile. “I did not want anyone to happen upon you in the bath. This is your bedchamber, and you are free to come and go from it as you please, although you don’t, at present, have anywhere to go, if you take my meaning. I do have instructions to give you in private. The sooner you enter, the sooner I can be on my way.”
Inge sullenly skirted past him into the room, only to stop short in astonishment. Her entire family could live quite comfortably here, and with room to spare. There was a wide wardrobe and a dressing screen, a huge canopied bed, and two comfortable chairs beside a small fireplace. It was like an entire house, minus the kitchen. She could probably even rig a pot over the little fire.
“I hope these quarters will suffice,” Bergstrom said as he shut the door to block off the hall behind him. “You should know that King Halvard has ordered the castle servants to give you your space, meaning they’re not to wait on you hand and foot. Also, he decreed last year that servants were not to converse unnecessarily while on the castle grounds, so don’t bother trying to get chummy with any of them. You won’t find any allies in that direction.”
The shock of seeing such an opulent room had thrown Inge’s brain into a stupor. Only when Bergstrom finished this speech did she actually grasp what he was saying.
Even then, she couldn’t believe her ears. “He doesn’t let his own servants talk?”
“Not outside the subject of their duties. One presumes that he didn’t like the gossip they were spreading. You’re not the only one subject to his whims, Your Highness.”
If he meant these words as consolation, he failed. The huge room pressed down upon her, a gilded cage in a hostile prison.
Captain Bergstrom continued. “As long as you are in the castle, you will be known as Prince Inge, champion of the people, slayer of monsters, adopted son of the honorable King Halvard, and betrothed of the lovely Princess Signe. A formal announcement will be made to the city this afternoon, at which time you will be presented to the people and your valor of this morning be made general knowledge.”
A lump of panic swelled in her throat. “Exactly how long do you mean for me to stay here?”
“As long as it pleases His Majesty. You are now a member of the royal family. Of course you must remain here.”
“But I’m a girl.” Why she assumed that argument would work any better now than it had before, she did not know.
Bergstrom favored her with a grim smile. “Not as long as you’re here you’re not, Prince Inge. His Majesty has ordered a punishment of execution if you tell anyone otherwise. Are we clear?”
With that, he bowed and left the room.
Inge scowled at the door as it shut. “If only I wasn’t so completely flat-chested! Why did Nea get all the luck?”
***
A shifting weight on his legs brought Colonel Raske back into consciousness. His eyes fluttered open to discover a small blond child who had climbed upon his lap to peer intently at him. Her tiny hands cradled his face. Raske wondered if he had ever seen her before.
“He’s waking up,” the little girl said over her shoulder.
His mind shifted into sharp focus. He tried to move, only to discover that his hands had been tied behind his back, that he himself had been tied down to the chair upon which he sat. There was some scuffling behind him and a second figure came into sight to snatch the little girl from his lap.
“Stay off him, Lisbet! He could be a murderer for all we know!” The speaker was a boy, ten or eleven years old. Beneath the fringe of dirty blond hair that hung across his eyes was a fierce expression. He looked like Gunnar Lang, only younger, Raske thought.
The little girl, Lisbet, did not take her dethronement well. “Eirik, I was sitting there!” she screeched.
“You don’t sit on hostages, fool!”
“You don’t call me a fool, dummy! I’m telling Inge!”
“Both of you be quiet!” a third voice commanded. “You’re going to wake Sassa!”
Raske turned his head just enough to see a second boy walk into view, identical to the first. What had Lang’s sister called them, Eirik and…? “Einar,” he said in vague recollection.
All three children froze. “He knows your name,” Eirik said in horror. “You must be the one he’s after! You’re dead!”
Einar squirmed under his twin’s declaration. “If he knows my name, he probably knows yours too! Ulfred would’ve sent him after both of us!”
All of Raske’s military training screamed for him to break free, but he restrained himself. He hadn’t been knocked unconscious in ages and never before imprisoned like this, but two ten-year-old boys were hardly a threat. In truth, he was rather impressed with them for the feat.
“What are you talking about?” he inquired.
“We’ll be asking the questions here,” Einar said, an ill-fitting sneer on his face. “Who are you? Who sent you here? Was it Ulfred? What were you going to do with that sword?” He gestured to the far wall, where Raske’s weapon and several of his personal items lay in a haphazard pile.
For all their bravado, the twins were frightened. Lisbet alone was wholly unconcerned.
“You haven’t damaged the blade, I hope,” said Raske. His sword was precious to him, a highly valuable weapon crafted by a master swordsmith. Only a handful of blades so fine existed.
“We’re going to use it to chop our firewood if you don’t talk,” Eirik threatened.
Raske straightened in his chair. “You don’t use a blade like that to chop wood. You don’t even joke about such a thing.”
“We aren’t joking,” said Einar with a menacing glare. “Tell us what we want to know, and your precious sword goes free.”
“And myself?” Raske wryly prompted. The sword wasn’t the one tied to a chair right now, after all.
The twins traded an uncertain glance and exchanged whispers back and forth.
“He doesn’t look dangerous to me,” Lisbet said loudly.
“You get out of here,” Eirik scolded as a crimson blush spread across his face. He shoved her toward a nearby door. “Go sit with Sassa in the other room.”
“She’s still asleep!”
“Sit with her until she wakes up! And don’t make any noise!”
Lisbet growled in frustration but ultimately obeyed. Raske watched her flounce away. She looked as though she might slam the door behind her, but at the last second, she remembered the sleeping Sas
sa and shut it softly instead.
Meanwhile, the twins had dropped the pretense of whispering. “We have to get rid of him,” Eirik said. “We can load him up on the sled again and drag him out the back door, but we have to get rid of him before Inge gets home.”
“That could be any minute now,” said Einar. “She’s been gone too long already.”
Raske spoke up without considering the implications of his words. “Your sister won’t be coming back. She’s the reason I came here.”
The twins looked to one another in dismay. “She must have gone to Ulfred’s this morning!” cried Eirik. “No wonder she didn’t tell us she was leaving! She probably helped him!”
“She wouldn’t be so stupid!” Einar replied. “Not Inge!”
Eirik’s imagination had already run away, though. “She probably found him and helped him, and then he took her hostage and sent a foreign assassin after us! You know she’s been saying we have to be careful around him!”
“I beg your pardon,” Colonel Raske interrupted, truly mystified and more than intrigued, “but your sister’s at the castle right now, and she’s perfectly well. Who is this Ulfred, and why would he be sending an assassin of any kind after you?”
Their escalating panic halted. “D’you think he’s trying to trick us?” Einar whispered.
“We’re not confessing to anything,” Eirik firmly told their hostage.
Raske maintained his patience. “I’m not trying to trick you, and I don’t have any interest in procuring confessions. You’re the ones who ambushed me because you thought I was connected with someone called Ulfred. Who is he?”
At first the boys looked as though neither would answer. Then, “Our landlord,” said Eirik hesitantly.
“He got what he deserved,” said Einar with false bravado. “Inge cried after he left yesterday. He got what he deserved. Not that we had anything to do with it,” he added, his eyes shifty.
Raske sighed. At this rate it was going to take him hours to get any meaningful information from the pair. “So Ulfred is your landlord, and you think he’s going to send an assassin after you because of some misfortune that befell him.”
Before either boy could answer, heavy steps sounded outside and the front door swung open with a swift fury.
“He’s here!” Eirik shrieked, and he and Einar dove behind Raske’s chair in an impressive show of simultaneity. Raske blinked at the flood of sunlight that spilled into the room to highlight the newcomer’s silhouette. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he easily recognized the newest addition to his personal envoy: Gunnar Lang had come home.
Gunnar stared back at his commanding officer, tied and bound to a chair while two little boys cowered behind him. An expression of pure horror descended upon his face.
“Hello, Lang,” said Raske mildly. “Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to assist me.”
Chapter 4: An Awkward Meeting of Sorts
There were guards in the hall, one at either end. They both turned to look at Inge when she poked her head out of her spacious new bedroom. She retreated, annoyed, and checked the narrow windows instead.
She could fit through the opening here, but it was at least thirty feet above the ground. Even if she had a rope, scaling down that height in broad daylight would most likely get her caught. With a sigh, she dropped onto the bed to think through her predicament. Night was hours upon hours away. Right now her only materials for a rope were the bedsheets and the strips of linen that Captain Bergstrom had given her. She didn’t trust the strips to hold her unless they were braided together, and then they wouldn’t be anywhere near long enough.
She eyed them with a growing dissatisfaction. At this rate, she would be stuck here for the day at the very least, an unfeminine girl playing the part of a princeling—and how well she seemed to fit that part, at least physically.
It was pride, plain and simple, that made Inge bind her chest. As she wrapped the long linen strips tightly around herself, she could tell that it made scant difference. Nea had always joked that her figure matched her tomboyish nature. Inge had always ignored the taunts, but their memory needled her now.
She surveyed the result in the mirror. The bindings didn’t do much, but she was stubborn, and it wasn’t as though it hurt to pretend that they did make a difference. She turned to one side and inspected her work from another angle.
It looked quite tidy, if she did say so herself.
A timid knock sounded on the door. Inge snatched up her shirt and scrambled behind the dressing screen.
“Come in,” she called as she pulled that garment over her head. Her heart pounded in her chest, like she had just been caught breaking rules.
The door opened. “Hello?” said an uncertain voice, a girl. “I’m sorry to intrude. That is, I wasn’t supposed to officially meet you until the announcement is made, but I thought I’d come sooner. You see, I’m your… I’m your… I’m Signe, your… sister, I suppose.”
Inge had been about to emerge from behind the screen, but she froze. Princess Signe, King Halvard’s daughter—would she be as cracked as her father? Did she know what sort of foolish declaration he intended to make about the two of them?
“Please forgive me for coming,” Signe continued, “but it seems that you and I are supposed to be married.” That answered one question, Inge thought cynically. “That is, Papa—our father—has decided, but… Well, I don’t mean to be rude, but…” She paused to take a deep breath, and then she plunged into what she really wanted to say.
“I’m just not comfortable with the idea of marrying a perfect stranger. I knew Papa intended to promise my hand to whoever could slay the night-walker, but I think he intended for Leiv to be the one who succeeded. Not that I want to marry Leiv,” she added, becoming increasingly flustered, and Inge wondered who this Leiv was, “much as I respect him. I really think the whole idea is ridiculous, and in fact I’m already, that is… Well, you see, I’m already in love with someone else, but Papa refuses to acknowledge him because he’s a courtier instead of a warrior, and Papa thinks that a warrior should sit on the throne. That’s partly where the ridiculous notion of marrying me off to a monster-slayer came from, but the long and short of it is,” she breathlessly finished, “I don’t want to marry you at all. I’m sorry.”
Inge had listened to this entire speech with a growing sense of empathy for the princess, and an increasing despair for herself. If King Halvard wouldn’t listen to his own daughter’s wishes, then what hope did she, a mere peasant, have to sway him?
She could at least put the girl’s mind to rest on one count, though. “That’s all right,” she said as she stepped out from behind the screen. “I don’t want to marry you either. I really don’t think your father will make us go through with it, all things considered.”
Signe was very pretty, Inge noted, even with such a stunned expression on her face. She was tall and willowy, with long golden hair and pale blue eyes—the quintessential princess, just like out of a fairy tale.
The princess stared. An embarrassed blush rose on her ivory cheeks, and she said unexpectedly, “Oh, you’re so young!” If Inge had to guess, she would say they were probably the same age, but she didn’t bother to correct this statement. “I thought for certain… I mean, it was such a ferocious monster! However did you manage to kill it? Oh! Not that you look unable—”
She was getting more flustered by the moment.
“It was an accident,” Inge said plainly. “I really don’t think your father will follow through and make you marry me, so don’t worry about that.”
“No, you’re too young to get married,” Signe agreed. “How old are you, twelve? Oh, but you’re almost as pretty as a girl! I mean, um…” She seemed to realize that her words might cause offense. Abruptly she turned away, overtly changing the subject. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this room. It used to be Osvald’s.”
Inge buried her resentment at being almost as pretty as a girl. “Osvald?” she ech
oed.
Signe started skittishly. She looked as though she regretted speaking that name. “Osvald, my… um… brother. That is, he was adopted like you. He was banished from the kingdom two years ago. We don’t really talk about it,” she added in a whisper. “Be sure not to mention his name where Papa can hear. He still gets very angry.”
“I see,” said Inge. She’d never heard of a Prince Osvald. Her family had lived in one of the northern provinces until last winter, though, and she had been blissfully oblivious to all things political. Osvald must have done something terrible if King Halvard could banish him and hold a grudge for so long afterward.
Inge wondered what his crime was. She wanted to stockpile ideas even if she wasn’t desperate enough to use them just yet. Signe, though, had realized that this avenue of conversation was no safer than the previous one.
“At any rate,” she said apologetically, “I only wanted to come introduce myself and to make certain things were… understood between us. They are understood, aren’t they?”
“Oh, yes,” said Inge.
“What a good little brother!” cried Signe in great relief, and she patted Inge’s head. “I do hope we’ll get along from here on.”
Inge knew she was short (“scrappy,” her father had always said), but somehow that pat on the head made her feel like a child again. She didn’t like it one bit, but Signe had such an air of innocence about her that it seemed cruel to rebuke her.
“I hope so too,” Inge half-heartedly replied.
***
“Gunnar!” Both Eirik and Einar sprang forward to greet their elder brother.
He pushed his way past their open arms. “C-Colonel Raske—? Oh, no! No!” In two seconds he was loosening the ropes that bound his commanding officer to the chair. “Sir, I’m so sorry, so very—”
“Gunnar!” Lisbet reappeared from the second room and hurled herself upon her frazzled brother. Raske suppressed a laugh at the surprised “Oof!” that Gunnar uttered as he was tackled to the ground by a four-year-old.
The Legendary Inge Page 3