“You understand, don’t you?” he asked, worry thick on his voice. “Prince Inge is a child.”
At first she didn’t grasp his meaning.
“Ingrid, Prince Inge is a child,” he said again, his eyes searching hers for comprehension.
He was differentiating between her and the role she played. Relief bubbled in her chest so readily that she blushed all the more.
“I see,” she said. She glanced down at the hand that still gripped her arm.
Raske released her immediately. “I… I overstepped my bounds before. You’ve been kind enough not to mention it, but I must admit my wrongdoing and beg your pardon. I had no right to act as I did, regardless of the circumstances.”
He meant the kiss at the swamp’s edge. Inge didn’t want his apology, especially at such an odd time as this. He’d made his excuses in the moment, and more than a week had already passed without reference to it. His sudden need to ask forgiveness—after the hour they had just spent together, no less!—annoyed her more than she cared to admit.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied. She dropped from the box to the ground. “I certainly can’t recall you wrongfully overstepping any bounds, so I can’t really grant you pardon, can I?” The thunderstruck expression on his face satisfied her wounded spirit. Prideful nose in the air, she opened the carriage door and climbed inside.
As the horses started forward again, she settled back in her seat and stewed over the metaphorical wall that he had pulled up between them. In the end, she could only conclude that she did not understand men at all.
Would that she had Linnea’s perception, but with a bit more sense.
Chapter 18: Royal Secrets
They rattled into the castle courtyard after dark. Raske escorted Inge straight to her room, assuring her that the kitchen would send up something for her supper. She was more tired than hungry. Absently she wondered how King Halvard and Princess Signe had fared with their dinner guests, the Sparre family. An answer to this appeared much sooner than she expected. Someone knocked on her door and she, thinking a servant had come with her food, immediately opened it.
Instead of the anticipated meal, Princess Signe stood in the hall.
“Hello,” she said, her voice timid.
“Hello,” Inge replied, confused.
Signe looked askance at the guard stationed just outside the door. “May I come in?”
Inge moved out of the way. “Is everything all right?” she inquired as the princess passed her.
“Yes,” said Signe, and the glance she sent toward the hallway served as wordless command to shut the door. Inge promptly obeyed. “I came to inquire after your visit with your family. Did you have a good time?”
“Yes,” said Inge.
“I wish I might’ve—” Signe’s voice caught in her throat. She swallowed and rapidly blinked. The tears she fought threatened to fall anyway. “I wish I had gone with you. I should’ve gone. I would’ve liked to have met them. And your sister was so nice. I wish—I wish I had a sister!”
Inge watched in horror as Princess Signe’s determination dissolved, to be replaced by wailing. Instinct kicked in—she had dealt with her fair share of crying children, after all—and she rushed to comfort the distraught girl. “Oh, it’s not anything to cry over,” she said, still not sure what had caused such trauma. “You didn’t miss anything much. What about dinner here? Wasn’t it nice to see Mikkel Sparre?”
Signe recoiled. Belatedly Inge recalled that the princess had never actually mentioned the name of the man she loved.
“Why—why would it be nice to see him?” she asked with rising panic.
Inge decided to be frank. “Well, you’re in love with him, aren’t you? And he’s in love with you, too.”
Signe’s face crumpled again. “He isn’t!” She wailed, hysterical once more. “He isn’t! Oh, he was so c-c-cold to me tonight! He wouldn’t even l-l-look at me! He doesn’t love me! Maybe he never did love me!” Her despair led her into wretched sobs. Inge could only pull her into a tight embrace and coo reassuring noises at her, like she had done with Sassa and Lisbet on countless occasions.
“It’s all right. Everything will be all right,” she murmured.
“It won’t!” Signe protested into her shoulder. “It feels like… like my heart has been r-r-ripped out of my chest! And Count and Countess Sparre! They sat and… and right in front of me—! They asked my papa right in front of me about a m-m-marriage between Mikkel and Lina Adleborg!”
“What? What did he tell them?”
“He s-s-said… g-g-good f-f-family!” She added something more, but it was high-pitched gibberish to Inge’s ears.
Annoyance surged through Inge, not directed at lovelorn Signe, but at her stubborn father. “And what did Mikkel say?”
Signe sobbed. “Nothing!”
Inge patted her back. “Then you don’t really know what he thinks about it at all, do you? I mean, maybe he couldn’t say anything. Maybe he’s in misery right now just like you are.”
The princess grew very still as she spoke, as though this idea had not occurred to her. She raised her teary eyes with renewed hope. Why did she have to be so pretty even when crying, Inge wondered. Some girls had all the advantages in life.
“You really think so?” Signe asked. Her lower lip quivered, but for the moment she put on a brave face.
Inge had only encountered Mikkel Sparre once and had little to go on but that initial impression; the truthfulness of her answer didn’t much matter in this situation, though.
“Yes.”
Signe’s face crumpled again, this time with tears of relief and hope rather than misery.
Inge marveled at the girl’s volatile emotions. “You wouldn’t have fallen in love with him if he was truly cold and uncaring,” she said, deeming the hopeful tears worth nurturing. “If you love him, you must have some faith in him. This can’t be easy for him either.”
Signe’s hope strengthened. She threw her arms around Inge in a crushing embrace. “You’re such a good little brother! I’m sorry I troubled you, but I didn’t know where else to go!” Then, she firmly kissed Inge’s forehead, in a very sisterly manner.
“Signe,” Inge began uncomfortably. The truth might have spilled from her lips in that moment, but a staccato knock on the door interrupted her.
“Oh!” cried Signe, who quickly turned to the corner and began dabbing at her face with a handkerchief.
Inge expected this to be her supper at long last. Once again, she was wrong.
“Hello, my son,” said King Halvard blandly. Inge goggled at him. The only other time he had come to her room was when he had tricked her into invoking her father’s circle spell. “I’ve come to inquire after your visit this afternoon. Did it go well?”
“Yes,” said Inge in confusion, but then she saw his shrewd eyes slide in his daughter’s direction.
“Ah, Signe!” His manufactured surprise left no doubts as to why he had ventured into this corridor of the castle. “I did not realize you were here.”
Signe did her best to hide her face even as she flashed him a forced smile. “Yes, Papa. I came to ask Inge about his visit as well. He said they had a splendid time.”
“Indeed. Well, that is good to hear. He’s probably tired from his journey. We should leave him to rest, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, Papa. If you don’t mind, um, I’ll go ahead. I needed to speak to… um, someone.”
She couldn’t make her escape without confronting him in the doorway. King Halvard’s face was all benevolence, though. He seemed not to notice the telltale signs of her tears as he stopped her to say, “Good night, my dear child.” He kissed her forehead in much the same way that she had kissed Inge’s only moments earlier.
Signe kissed him on the cheek. “Good night, Papa,” she whispered, and then she fled from the room.
Inge was not surprised when King Halvard stayed behind. Her nerves drew taut as she waited for him to speak. He
, of course, remained silent until Princess Signe was out of earshot.
Then, “I’ll thank you not to fill my daughter’s head with nonsense,” he said.
The unjust rebuke triggered an insolent streak within her. “That might be hard to obey,” she replied. “I don’t really know what you consider to be nonsense.”
He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “You dare to challenge my authority?”
Inge did not waver. “I’m not challenging you. For your peace of mind, I didn’t tell Signe much of anything at all. She was too busy sobbing on my shoulder. You seem to know everything else that happens in this castle, so you must know that she’s in love with Mikkel Sparre. Why are you doing this to her?”
“The king answers to no one, least of all to an elevated peasant.” On these words he turned to leave.
“I don’t expect you to answer to me,” said Inge, “but can’t you at least consider your own daughter? This whole ridiculous charade is making her suffer! Think of Signe!”
“Bite your tongue,” he snapped, with such ferocity that Inge jumped. “Think of Signe? Signe is all I think of! Everything I do is for Signe, from the moment I wake up in the morning until the moment I fall asleep at night! Everything is for her! And you, in your ignorance, have the gall to chastise me?”
She had struck a nerve. Indeed, she had never supposed that King Halvard had such a nerve to strike. He always seemed so inherently in control of himself and everything around him.
But he had struck a nerve with her, too.
“If I am ignorant, it’s because you have kept me in ignorance,” she uttered.
A cynical laugh escaped his lips. “Yes, and I’ll continue to keep you there. And what will you do, child of Torvald? Will you rebel against your king and protector, as so many others have done before you?”
There it was: tangible proof of his distrust, not just of her, but of the world at large. Inge’s mind flashed to the banished Prince Osvald. Was this his original crime? Were there others who had rebelled against the king? She didn’t know anything about the workings of the kingdom prior to coming here. She also didn’t know why he invoked her father’s name. It irritated her. Torvald Geirson had been law-abiding, law-respecting, as loyal a man as ever lived. Inge, even in her most rebellious moments, never wanted to tarnish that sterling reputation.
For her father’s sake alone, she reined in her temper. “Much as I wish I could, no, I won’t rebel. Forgive my outburst, Your Majesty. I thought only of Signe’s welfare and spoke out of turn.” She bowed stiffly, expecting that he would sweep from the room without sparing her another moment of his time.
He did not move. She waited, eyes fixed on the floor, but still he remained motionless. At long last, Inge lifted her gaze, her brows knit together in confusion.
His face, though yet aloof, seemed much softer than before.
“You have your father’s candor.” She thought she heard a note of approval in his voice. “You may think of Signe’s welfare, but recall that your unquestioning, undying loyalty belongs to me, and to me alone. Do you understand?”
A chill raced up her spine. “Yes, Sire.”
“Good,” he said. “Then I bid you good night.”
He opened the door and motioned to someone in the hall, after which he strode from sight.
Inge might have watched him go, awestruck as she was by his imperious presence, but no sooner had he left than a servant appeared in his place with her long awaited supper. She accepted it with mechanical thanks and shut the door again.
The food was cold. She wondered how long it had been left waiting out in the hall for princess and king alike to leave her on her own.
Chapter 19: Rumors of War
The dry, acrid air of the king’s smithy reminded Inge so much of her father’s forge that she almost envied Gunnar his daily occupation. She lolled near the door, watching her brother work, listening to the nostalgic clang of hammer to steel. He pounded over and over again in a deafening rhythm. Almost it was enough to draw her thoughts from the maze they had occupied since her encounter with the king the night before.
Gunnar plunged the newly formed metal into a vat of water; steam hissed and writhed in the air. He extracted the piece and set it alongside a row of others that awaited his master’s inspection. Halfway to the fire and white-hot metal that awaited him there, he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. As he did so, he fixed a cynical eye upon his little sister by the door.
“Not that I’m one to question royalty, Inge, but why are you mooning around here?”
She hunched back, a little defensively. “I’m sick of my room, and this is the only other place Captain Raske will leave me unattended.” It was true—Raske himself had conceded to abandon her at the smithy for an hour while he tended to his many duties as Captain of the Castle Guard—but it didn’t exactly answer Gunnar’s question. “Why? You don’t want me here?”
“I don’t care,” he said. “You always hung around the smithy back home. Anyone can tell you have something on your mind, though, so spit it out.”
She looked surreptitiously to the open door, to the windows flung wide to vent the heat of the forge. Raske had agreed to this visit only after she promised she wouldn’t leave the forge itself. He might return at any moment. Gunnar’s master, Kettil, had stepped out as well; she didn’t know where he had gone or how soon he might come back.
“Spit it out, Inge,” her brother said again.
“Have there ever been any rebellions against the king?” she blurted, and she glanced to the door again, fearful of being overheard.
Gunnar’s head tilted to one side. “Rebellions?” he echoed.
She had tossed and turned the night before, consumed by her conversation with King Halvard. All morning long she had muddled over it, through practice with the castle guard, through a geography lesson and more than one scolding from her frustrated tutor. King Halvard had spoken of rebellion as though past events gave him just cause to suspect everyone he encountered. If Osvald had been the sole offender, would it have cut the king as deep as this?
“Yes, rebellions,” she said. “Have there ever been any? All I know is the Ten Years’ War, but that was so long ago, and King Halvard was still only Prince Halvard when it started, so I don’t think it was a rebellion against him at all.”
“I don’t know any more than you do,” Gunnar replied. “Dad didn’t talk about politics or war. He never even talked about his part in the Ten Years’ War. You’re asking the wrong person.”
“You told me to spit it out.”
Gunnar scowled. “Why are you even asking at all? What’s been going on?”
“It was just something I overheard.” That was a lie, but she didn’t think she should tell her brother the true source of her worries. He might do something rash. She struck into a different vein of conversation. “Do you think the kids are all right with Nea?”
“Why wouldn’t they be? They’re at one of the king’s estates. There should be plenty of adults around if they get into trouble.”
“But they’re—” She cut off her words before she could tell him the family had moved. Gunnar didn’t know. Only Raske knew, and that was by the king’s orders, because someone might be trying to kill Inge and her family.
If that was true, though, the little ones weren’t her only family members in danger. “Gunnar, there might be a lot of strange things happening around here,” she said carefully.
He looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “Strange things? You mean like night-walkers attacking in the dark? That kind of strange? Or maybe foolish little sisters getting dragged beneath the swamp when they go to rescue swords that only they can rescue? Is that the kind of strange you mean?”
She wilted under his glare. He knew about the incident at the swamp. She had never told him. “H-how did you—?”
“Soldiers talk, Inge. They talk in the vicinity of servants, who talk in the vicinity of other servants.”
“I thought the castle servants were forbidden from talking!”
“No one obeys a decree like that, not perfectly, and especially not where tales of monsters are concerned. I wondered whether you’d ever confess the adventure, so I didn’t say anything, but obviously I’m not your confidant of choice. Is that what you meant by strange things?”
“Someone might be trying to kill me,” she admitted. “They might be trying to kill you and the little ones, too, because of me. I’m not even sure why. No one will tell me anything, Gunnar.”
He stared at her long and hard, long enough that she slouched all the more.
“Is that why you’re asking about rebellions?”
“Yes,” she said despondently. “As best I can tell, there must be something sordid going on.”
Gunnar grunted. “And somehow we’re in the thick of it?”
Thoughts of the mysterious Prince Osvald pattered again across her mind. Raske had admitted that he was the threat. Inge wondered if the soldiers or servants ever spoke to one another of him, of his crime against the king or his connection to the night-walkers. The captain had told her not to speak of Osvald, though. Perhaps King Halvard had forbidden his servants from casual conversation for the same reason. But it made no sense, not to speak of a traitor.
Did Gunnar know anything? Even as she opened her mouth to ask, footsteps approached from outside. Inge straightened like a child caught in mischief, anticipating Captain Raske on the threshold.
It was broad-shouldered Master Kettil instead. He entered the smithy with a gap-toothed grin plastered on his face. “Finished with those ploughshares, Gunnar?”
His apprentice glanced self-consciously toward the fire. “I have one more. My—I mean, the prince wanted to ask me a question.”
“Sorry,” said Inge as Kettil turned his eyes upon her.
The master-smith looked her over from head to toe. He spoke no rebuke, though. Instead he simply told Gunnar, “When you’ve finished the last one, I’ll make a full inspection.” Then he passed into a small back room, away from sight.
The Legendary Inge Page 20