“Who’s there?” one called, and the others chuckled.
“Split up,” another said like he was the leader. “You two that way. You go round. You’re with me.”
I could hear low jests, snickering—they were right pleased to have stumbled on someone in the dark.
I sat close to a black, sooty lump I realized after a moment was the wooden slab what’d once served as Gram’s counter. The two rocks it used to lie on were still there, though they were as black as everything else. I crouched in between them, my heart hitting the wall of my chest like a fist, wishing the rage hadn’t deserted me.
I begun thinking of everything what’d happened, hoping something’d spark the rage again. Killing Officers of Tyr had to please the Gods, I reckoned, but it’d mean my own death, and I found I’d no wish to die. Leastways, not ’til I seen him.
Seeing my brother Hardane’s face in the flash of a glim near to convinced me it’d be better to die right then.
Hardane, an Officer of Tyr?
It weren’t possible, my mind argued. It weren’t. Yet there he was; I recognized his voice after a moment. When had he even joined? How had he survived the invasion?
I’d assumed he and Vig were both dead, though I’d not given it much thought, I realized with some guilt. I’d given Hardane up when he joined the slashers. How did he go from being a slasher to being an Officer?
Though that explained what happened to all the slashers well enough. Recruited.
Toadies what survived Atli’s massacre, too, no doubt.
Such as Atli’s toadies. A sick feeling washed through me. Hardane weren’t one of Atli’s. It weren’t possible.
But how’d he survived the invasion, then? Best as I could tell, anyone what’d not died in the massacre’d died in the invasion, unless they sided with Atli ’fore he even planned his betrayal of the other bosses.
Hardane was only fourteen. No, fifteen now, I realized, for the winter solstice’d come and gone, and he’d been born just days before it. Did they take such young ones on as Officers, now? Course, he’d have lied about his age, easy enough. Hardane’d always been big. Even now I’d never have guessed he was so young as fifteen, seeing his bulk in the dark, leastways.
They were circling the building, but for once the rubble was a strength, for they’d have to climb over a good deal of it to reach me unless they found the exact path I’d taken into the shop. After a short while they gave up, grumbling and cuffing each other in frustration. I stayed put ’til I knew they were gone.
~~~
After that more’n a couple of things changed.
I went back to live with Leika, sure enough, but our relationship weren’t the same no more. She knew I had the disguise, and that I’d put it on that night, and I could tell by the way her breath caught sometimes she hoped and feared I’d wear it again and come to her bed with it on.
I did wear it again, many times, but I went out to the streets rather’n come to her, and I prowled. The rage had left me again, wouldn’t you know, and I kept to the shadows when I seen Officers pass. There weren’t no slashers no more, I realized. They’d all died or joined Tyr’s ranks. It was all the same to me, though. I knew slashers when I seen’em, and the Officers what patrolled Helésey at night weren’t nowt more’n slashers in uniforms. My brother included.
I walked all over Helésey and I soon seen enough to know something else. The army’d done all it was going to do—for now leastways—to rebuild the city. Save for a few units what walked the streets, they were all grouping up again in the west, in Vígbúa, where the military base was. I knew about the base from long ’fore the city fell. One of the Undergrunnsby’s tunnels come right up under it, and it used to be a game for kids like me and Dag to climb up and see how far we’d get into the base ’fore someone seen us and come running to catch us. We’d race back to the ladder what went down into the sewers—that part of the tunnels was fair older’n the larger ones where Mosstown was. I can still hear the echoes of our feet and the splashing we made in the little rivulet at the base of the tunnel in that section. Everyone I knew what used to do that was dead or gone now, though.
Late one night after I started prowling as Raud Gríma, I sat on the roof of one of the buildings in the Kaupsektor, just north of Vígbúa, and watched the trucks drive through the most western spoke of the Torc where ships were docking more’n anywhere else around the island. There must’ve been a ripping lot of deliveries happening, and they were all destined for the base. Made me wonder what’d happened in the provinces in the eight months ’tween the Great Rising and the invasion. The Dísablót, if we were to have one this year, which I doubted, was just a couple of weeks hence. It’d been near to a year since the Rising.
The next day I tried to ask Leika about it, but one more thing’d changed, and it took all her attention these days. She was being courted.
There were two kinds of suits, to make matters more complicated. There were them what wanted the job of High Vigja of Tyr, like Vigja Áleifer, and three others as well. Then there were them what’d taken it into their heads they might marry Leika and become the new konunger. And Reister Sölbói was one of them.
It come clear to me after a few days of Leika twitching every time I moved that I’d fallen out of favor with her even though she’d no intention of sending me away and from what I could tell, she still wanted me in her bed. She just weren’t about to admit it, least of all to herself, so she started entertaining men. And I also come to understand she’d been doing that ’fore I come along, fair regular-like, and my appearance’d put a stop to it for a time. I don’t think Leika realized she’d done it—put a stop to the courting on account of me, you understand—but now that I’d bedded her, more or less, she’d suddenly remembered the importance of keeping a steady stream of male suitors coming through her parlor.
I kept well clear of Reister Sölbói, you can imagine, though once or twice he caught my eye just as I was fleeing either to my room or out of the apartments altogether, and I seen plain as the sun he weren’t done trying to murder me, the way his eyes glittered at me.
The advantage of Leika being distracted was that it made my coming and going a whole lot more simple than before. I could leave whenever I liked long as she didn’t need me for reading or some such, so I was out in the city most nights, always dressed in the mask and vest, though I’d had the idea it weren’t so wise to wear it inside the palace. I packed it in the black sack I’d found it with and hid it in an alley just south of the palace which never took much damage in the bombings. It was all old stone and it had a nook in the back of it perfect for hiding the sack and for changing in and out of my clothes.
I took to scouting Vígbúa regular-like, and the docks in Hafsida and Nordhafsida, which was the only part of the island open to the ocean, on account of the Torc’s opening being beyond them. What I seen there scared me: they were building ships bigger’n any I’d ever seen, even in books. They’d finish one and send it out beyond the Torc, while they worked on another and another.
What I weren’t sure of was the state of the provinces. Were they under the regime’s control, or had they rebelled? If they were conquered, what was all this military buildup for? It seemed to me they’d have only one thing to do once the army and navy was ready, if the provinces weren’t the target—take on the southern lands, or maybe head east into the continent. And they’d be fools to do it while Leika held the throne alone, and that’s a fact.
“They’ll need her to take a husband, and soon,” I said to Finnarún one morning about two weeks after I’d run into Hardane in Sudbattir.
“Don’t forget the appointment to High Vigja. The position of High Vigja is almost as important as the konunger. In some ways, it’s more powerful, although it isn’t supposed to be, in name at least.” She was sitting at a writing table slicing open letters, glancing at them, and setting them aside. I slumped in a chaise with my feet up. I’d spent most of the night running around the city, and I was ti
red.
“I hope she picks Vigja Liniblaudr,” I said in answer to her.
She raised one golden eyebrow. “For High Vigja?”
“Sure,” I said. “He keeps telling her the passages in the Book of Tyr what make women out to have no rights were Galmr’s opinion and no true message from Tyr.”
“And since you’ve lost the thread of your plan to convince Leika to become some sort of true dróttning, you’re casting all your hopes at Vigja Liniblaudr’s feet?” Finnarún said, her voice mocking.
I frowned and looked down at the pattern of triangles on the corner of the rug by the chaise. I’d never said owt to Finnarún about my reading my’n books to Leika and how I’d hoped to change her mind about Tyr and the rest of it, but Finnarún had somehow guessed my plan. I’d hoped that if I could convince Leika to give up the cult of Tyr that she would become a dróttning, a true queen and sole ruler of Ódalnord, powerful and confident. Then, I hoped she’d put a stop to all the madness going on in Ódalnord. Now it seemed I’d lost that chance, for Leika only ever had me reading her letters anymore, and she’d destroyed all my books anyhow. All that was left of them was the pages I’d saved, all piled up in a box what once held a hat, hidden in the back of my closet.
“Well, you’d best take care, when it comes to Vigja Liniblaudr. Honeyed words hide poisoned intentions,” Finnarún said, slicing through another note. Her eyes flicked over it, then she tossed it onto the pile with the ones what come before it. “Although I’d love to see the look on Áleifer’s face if she chose Liniblaudr.”
As it happened, when I returned to the royal apartments that afternoon, Leika was entertaining Vigja Áleifer and two jarls I seen him with once or twice ’fore now. Áleifer was tall and thin, so thin it made you question whether he’d eaten in the last few days, in fact—he had hollow cheeks and sunken pale blue eyes, and the cords in his neck stood out like he was always straining. His hair he cropped shorter’n most men did, but it had the gloss of tonic just like the rest. To look at the skin of his face you’d never guess he even grew a beard or mustache. One jarl was older, with grey hair what hadn’t much tonic in it, and a thin grey mustache, and the other was a heavy man with a red nose what spoke of his love of drink, if I weren’t mistaken.
“I urge you to disavow Vigja Liniblaudr,” Áleifer was saying to Leika. They sat in the grand salon and he’d pulled his chair up right next to her—I knew on account of I’d long since memorized where every piece of furniture stood, so’s I could move them into place, if someone disturbed them, ’fore Leika’d run into one she didn’t expect’d be there.
Leika sat with her spine straight as an arrow, her eyes staring out into nothing, not tilting her face to Áleifer like she’d do if she wanted to be listening to him.
“I cannot say too much, or risk exposing secrets of the order,” Áleifer continued, “but I must warn you that Vigja Liniblaudr is the subject of an inquiry at this time.”
“An inquiry?” Leika said, and I could hear in the clipped “qu” of “inquiry” how much she disliked the conversation. I hovered in the doorway, watching, wondering what I should do. Áleifer’s radio talks still upset her. I’d had to put her to bed twice just that week, and it weren’t any easier to do it now, when she’d twitch and gasp every time I touched her.
“I can say no more on the subject,” Áleifer said. “You must trust me. Vigja Liniblaudr is suspected of…”
He let his voice trail off as if he’d just remembered he weren’t supposed to say. Which struck me as false, on account of he’d said twice he mightn’t speak of it.
Leika weren’t having it neither. She twisted a handkerchief in her hands and pressed her lips shut, her thin chest heaving just enough so’s I could tell she was getting upset. I’d best intervene, I knew, or I’d be pouring brandy down her throat in an hour.
“Begging your pardon, your Highness,” I said from where I stood in the doorway. Áleifer’s face whipped round—no doubt he’d not noticed me there. His pale eyes pierced me like daggers. He weren’t pleased to be interrupted. “Begging your pardon,” I said again. “Your Highness might’ve forgot your engagement this evening? You did say you’d want more’n an hour to prepare.”
There weren’t no engagement, but I’d used the excuse ’fore now and Leika’d gotten the gist. I seen her face relax as she did now.
“Oh, by the Hand,” she said, all smiles. “She’s right, gentlemen. I’m terribly sorry, I must ask you to leave. I’ve much to do.”
Áleifer shot me another glare and grabbed Leika’s hand. “Your Majesty, you cannot mean that any evening doings could ever be more important than Tyr’s business! I am His messenger, your Majesty. He has called on me to warn you, and I will put no other matters before this one—”
“You have warned me, Vigja,” Leika said, her voice soothing. For a moment, I felt fair proud of her. She struggled so much, with her fears, her weaknesses, but right then she was strong as a dróttning. “I thank you for it. Gullthewar will see you out, gentlemen.”
Gullthewar, one of the golden robots what served the crown, come in just as though he’d been listening at the door, and stood ’tween Áleifer and one of the two jarls.
“Ginna, to me,” Leika said, and though she might as well’ve been calling a dog, I didn’t mind. I walked to her side and she put her hand on my arm. “Thank you, Vigja Áleifer. Jarl Gydir, Jarl Hjálmir. It is such a comfort to know such honourable gentlemen have so great a loyalty to me.”
“Certainly, your Majesty,” Vigja Áleifer said. The jarls each muttered something, then the three of them followed Gullthewar out of the grand salon.
As soon as they backs disappeared through the doorway I felt Leika’s weight descend on my arm. “Take me to my boudoir, Ginna,” she whispered.
I did as I was told, by the Eye, and she dropped my arm the moment she found her chaise. She lay down on it, her breathing heavy and her cheeks flushed.
“They’ve upset you,” I said.
“Vigja Liniblaudr, under suspicion—” she muttered. “They’re having an inquiry, Ginna.”
I’d never have guessed she cared a pinch for Liniblaudr. “Are they?” I said, trying to avoid saying the wrong thing.
“It’s starting again,” she said. “They’ll put him in Grumflein, mark my words.”
“Starting again?”
“The disappearances. Under Eiflar—” She stopped herself and gasped, one hand fluttering at her breast as though she’d lost her breath.
It weren’t the usual symptoms of a fit, and I begun to get worried. I crouched down next to her. “Your Highness, if they try to put Liniblaudr in Grumflein, you’ll have him released. You’re the konungdis.”
“It’s not Liniblaudr!” she exclaimed. “You don’t understand, Ginna. For a time, after the Tyrablót—oh, how can I say it? It’s a dishonour to his memory. To both their memories…”
“Eiflar-Konunger’s and… High Vigja Galmr’s?” I guessed.
She turned her face to mine, then, and nodded. “That’s right. Eiflar and Galmr—they were—they were everything, Ginna. Without them, the new order of Tyr would never have come to be.”
“But in every great age, there are flaws,” I coaxed, gentle-like.
She nodded again. Her lower lip trembled, so she bit it. The tremble spread to her body then, a shiver through her shoulders, so I hurried to her room and found a shawl. I wrapped it round her best as I could.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, that’s just it. Flaws. It’s terrible to even say it, I know, but… a true traitor, I can understand. There were enemies of the new order! They had to be dealt with, of course. Eiflar had some executed, you know. When he was merciful, he sent some to Grumflein. But there were some—he sent some who weren’t traitors. They simply disagreed, or said something or other that Galmr didn’t like. I saw it happen—too many times. And if Galmr ever knew—I—Eiflar would have sent me—”
“Seems to me Eiflar-Konunger knew you well, and he never se
nt you to prison, your Majesty.”
Her hands grasped for mine. “He never did, but he—he repudiated me—”
“For all the wrong reasons, your Majesty,” I said, soothing best as I could, for she was showing all the signs of starting a fit now. Though this was the first time she’d remembered Eiflar repudiating her. I wondered if she’d remember Myadar Sölbói’s being Raud Gríma next.
“The wrong reasons. Because of my sister,” she agreed.
“Your sister,” I echoed, trying to stay neutral and guide her to the true memories at the same time.
“She was a traitor! A real one. He would have executed her, but that—that—he killed Eiflar. He killed the konunger! It was regicide!”
“He, your Majesty?” Though course I knew who he was. Except it weren’t he, but she, and Leika knew it. Why wouldn’t she admit it?
“Raud Gríma!” she gasped, clutching my hands tight enough to hurt. “Oh, Ginna! Tyr help me. Tyr save me! He’ll come for me next!”
I’d done nowt but push her into a fit after all. It’d have been better to steer her to talk about the flaws in the new order. Now that opportunity’d passed, and I’d have to find a way to calm her. Least she weren’t flinching from my touch this time.
“There, there, now,” I murmured. “You’re safe, your Highness. No one’s coming for you.”
“Ginna, Ginna, I can’t stand it,” she sobbed, and wrapped her arms around me, burying her face in my chest. I stroked her back and muttered soft things, wishing I’d brung a bottle of brandy in when I’d got the shawl.
After a time of sobbing, she lifted her face up and pressed her mouth on mine. I was fair shocked, I can tell you, but I kissed her back. She let go of my middle and grabbed my face in her hands, opening her mouth. My’n hands stopped moving, for I was sure she’d push me away in another moment, but instead she pulled me closer, her hands slipping down, touching my breasts.
After the Fall (Raud Grima Book 2) Page 24