“And that you work for her because you’re one of those degenerates from the lowest parts of the city. He said you lived in the sewers! You and all of your awful people! Your people destroyed the city. Your people rallied to that—that—to his call, when he murdered my husband to escape his execution!” She grabbed the ruffle at her collar with one hand, gripping it as her fear got the better of her. “All this time, I’ve had my own murderer living in my apartments, just waiting for the right moment to strike!”
“You don’t believe that,” I said.
Her mouth quivered as she turned her face towards me. “How dare you suggest such a thing?”
“If you believed any of that tripe you’d have had Officers here waiting for me to return home. I’d already be in irons, and that’s a fact.”
“I’ve only to give the order and they’ll be sent for!”
“By the time they got here, if I’d any intention of harming you, the job’d be done, wouldn’t it. No. You’re not afraid of me. You’re afraid of Raud Gríma, maybe, though I’m beginning to have my doubts there, as well.” I walked over to her and crouched at her side, taking her hand. She let me. “It is time you knew the truth of things, I believe. It’s true I’ve lived most of my life in the Undergrunnsby, Leika. It’s true Vaenn wanted me to spy on you. But I’ve no loyalty to Vaenn, no more. She’s got none for me, you see. It’s been a while since I gave up the hopes I had with her, and I set my hopes on you.”
She made a noise of frustration and pulled her hand from mine. “That silly idea of dróttnings, Ginna? Those are just stories from another age.”
“They don’t have to be. You could do it. It’s in your reach. If only you’d give up the chains you wear—the anchor of Tyr and everything what goes with him. You could change Ódalnord forever. Take us from this path of suffering and destruction. Begin a new age.”
“You’re speaking nonsense,” she said, her voice tight. “I couldn’t possibly—I couldn’t even imagine it. I’ve been so lost this last year since Eiflar’s death. I’ll be better now, with Reister at my side.”
“As your lawful husband?”
“Yes.”
I stood up ’fore my legs cramped. I paced a bit, just to get the blood flowing in the again, and to give myself a moment to come up with the best phrasing for what I’d say next.
“Tell me, Leika,” I said at last, “how’s he going to be your lawful husband when he’s still married to another?”
She frowned. “Ginna, he’s a widower. His wife is dead.”
“That’s a lie, and I think in your heart you know it. Myadar Sölbói never died in the bombings. I seen her myself not two days since.”
She made a choked noise and her hand, the one what’d worried the ruffle on her dress, flew to her throat.
“More’n that, you know who she was. Who she is. You always say ‘he,’ but you know Myadar Sölbói was Raud Gríma. You can’t marry the husband of the woman what made you a widow, Leika. You know you can’t.”
Both of her hands covered her mouth then. Her face, pale as it was, went even whiter. Her dark blue eyes shone, wide and staring. I waited. This could go a few different ways, I figured. She’d have a fit and be no use to anyone for a time, and I’d do what I could for her and then go get Vinring. She’d call for guards and I’d have to flee and I’d not find my way back to Finnarún’s for Vinring that night. It’d fall to Myadar to save him, then, though I’d do what I could to help, I reckoned. Or Leika’d take in the news and realize I’d the right of things, and it was Reister what’d get a visit from the Officers and find himself in Grumflein soon enough. If that happened, I didn’t know what I’d do, for going to off to rescue Vinring’d get in the way of helping Leika take on the mantle of dróttning, now wouldn’t it? And I’d a mind to stay by her side if that’s how things played out.
Course, as it often goes, she chose something I’d not considered.
She lowered her hands slow-like and after a moment she stood up. She seemed shaky, like a sapling in a cold wind, but she turned her face to me and said, “You’ve given me a great deal to think about, Ginna.” And she started towards her rooms.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
She paused. “I must dress for the Temple’s gala this evening.”
You might’ve heard the “thunk” when my jaw hit the floor at that. Leika, attending a gala?
“They’ll all see you’re blind,” I said without much grace, but I was that surprised, don’t you know.
“I’ve chosen tonight to let them all know the truth of my affliction,” she replied. Then she cocked her head to the side and gave me a small smile. “It seems it’s been a day of revelations. One more won’t matter very much.”
At that she turned and disappeared into the corridor what led to her boudoir.
I stared after her ’til I realized what I was about and gave myself a shake.
I’d a decision to make.
The wisdom of my experience as a sewer rat dictated that I’d run from the palace this instant, without a detour to Finnarún’s, and never stop ’til I’d found a way straight out of Helésey, for I’d got a reprieve from the konungdis, who had good reason to see me hang.
But then there was my promise to Myadar, for I had promised, of course, to do whatever I could to bring Vinring back to her unharmed. I thought of Sigrid and how fast she hushed the baby and my heart twisted in my chest.
And then there was the possibility that Leika might come through. She’d not fallen apart when I told her the truth. She’d not had me arrested just on Reister’s word, either, which made me think that in some part of her she knew he weren’t to be trusted. Would she set him aside? Would she return from this gala, having shown herself to her people and let them see her for who she was, for the first time in a year? Would she then embrace the possibility of ruling as dróttning? How could I leave if she did that?
I’d like to say I hemmed and hawed over the decision, if for no other reason’n Ivarr being out in the city and all, and my knowing I loved him, and running away that instant might mean I’d have a chance of seeing him again. But then, so did saving Vinring, didn’t it?
In the end I knew I’d no real choice—only, I hoped I might be able to help Leika after all, though it’d have to be after I did what I must for Vinring. I’d never abandon a baby to some uncertain fate in the hands of Finnarún Vaenn, and that’s a fact. Whatever else might happen, I had to try to get him out of the palace and back to his mother.
I waited for some time after Leika left—on Sölbói’s arm, wouldn’t you know—and then it was a matter of finding the secret door in her bed chamber. I used my old glim, the one Spraki gave me, so’s not to turn on a light. It took little enough time, though, for the door was in the back of one of her three large closets, as well.
The corridor beyond was fair narrow just as the one outside Finnarún’s had been, and soon enough it come to a tight winding staircase. As I descended I hit a step what sounded off. As I went further down, I shone the glim up, and noticed that one of the stairs I’d left above—for you could see the underside of them as you made your way down—weren’t quite the same as the rest. It seemed a bit crooked somehow.
I made my way back up a step or two ’til I could reach it, stuck the glim in my mouth, and sure enough the step come loose in my hands. I sat on the stairs and looked at what I’d found. It looked like folded clothing.
Quick as a wink I seen what they were, and it gave me a strange turn, I’ll admit. There were boots of soft black leather folded over themselves, and then a pair of black britches, a black, loose tunic with long sleeves, and black gloves of similar leather to the boots. But it was the mask what made my hair stand on end. A red mask, with golden threading. Raud Gríma’s mask.
I could see it now: Finnarún sneaking in from her apartments, changing into the disguise, and visiting Leika. Making Leika think she was Raud Gríma—using Leika’s madness against her. Questioning her, maybe, or telling h
er things; and Leika never said a word for it was all one nightmare to her.
Come to think of it, maybe she had said something. But I never listened. It was all one nightmare to me.
My fingers dug into the fabric of the mask and tunic, the rest of the disguise covering my legs. Well. Let Raud Gríma take revenge on Finnarún for her deceits.
The disguise fit me fair well, though the britches were cut for Finnarún, and a bit on the short side for me. With the boots, you’d never notice.
The corridor at the bottom of the spiral stairs led only in one direction, so it weren’t no trick to find my way. I pushed into Finnarún’s bed chamber fair careful-like, so’s not to make a sound. She’d be at the gala, no doubt, but Sigrid was another story.
The apartments were quiet, and I crept silent as a mouse—or a sewer rat—out of Finnarún’s bed chamber, through her boudoir and down the corridor what led to the salons. Once I reached the grand salon I made my way to the opposite corridor, what led to the smaller rooms. A time’d come and gone I’d had a room down that way, don’t you know, and I’d an idea Finnarún’d given it to Sigrid. Seemed like her type of joke.
I stopped outside the door to what’d once been my room and listened, and after I was fair sure nowt stirred beyond it, I cracked it open and peered in. Sure enough, Sigrid lay in the bed, her hair a dark halo around her head, her eyes closed and her mouth agape. Beyond her bed, against the far wall, was a crib.
Easing my way in, I fair held my breath, hoping the door’d not creak or some such. When I managed to cross the room to the crib, I’d only one thought—to see Vinring, make sure he was really there.
“Oi. What’re you about?” Sigrid said, her words still slurred with sleep.
I froze, then turned slow-like to face her.
Sigrid’s eyes widened at the sight of my masked face, her lids pulling back from the whites in fear. “Holy Hel,” she breathed, squirming up against the backboard of her bed, grasping the sheets to her chest.
Would she scream, I wondered? She looked to be frozen with fear. I took another step towards the crib.
She must have realized what I was about.
“No!” she shouted, wrestling back the covers and diving to put herself ’tween me and the baby. Was she afraid for him, I wondered, or only doing the duty Finnarún set for her?
“Get out of the way,” I growled, reaching to move her.
She let out a shriek then and I cursed myself for a fool—why had I not silenced her the moment I seen her asleep?
I clutched her gown’s sleeve with one hand and struck her hard on the chin with the other. Sigrid crumpled at my feet.
I felt no satisfaction for it. She weren’t a friend, but I felt a kinship for her, nevertheless. I never wished her harm. But Vinring was more important, and with the shriek she’d probably called the house robots to the room, at the least. I listened, but the apartments remained silent. Had they not heard, then? Had I still a chance?
I crept to the edge of the crib, still listening with both ears straining, but no sound came, and before me lay the baby—Myadar’s baby. I could take him in my arms without another thought.
But then what? How to take him with me when waking him was sure to alert the whole world of my presence with a wailing babe?
I needn’t have worried. I touched him gentle and he opened his eyes, rolling a bit to one side and stretching his little fat arms. Then he looked at me with bright blue eyes and cooed. He was a round little fellow, wearing a white knitted sleeper, with just a few wisps of golden hair on his head. I could swear I seen Eiflar in the shape of his eyes—everyone knew what Eiflar looked like, for banners with his face and the heads side of coins all showed him during his reign. Vinring was his child, and no mistake. You’d have to be blind as Leika not to see it.
Vinring cooed again and I scooped him up and hurried out of the room ’fore Sigrid might wake. Then it was fast-as-you-can-Ginna to the secret corridor, and back through to Leika’s apartments.
I exited the corridor into Leika’s bed chamber with no difficulty. It weren’t ’til I left her room that disaster struck.
~~~
I’ll always wonder if Finnarún planned for me to find the disguise she’d hidden in the corridor—I think not, for I don’t believe she meant to show me the corridor at all, not ’til she decided it was the only way for me to come back and tell her who Leika’d named High Vigja. But it worked out for the best in her favor, wouldn’t you know, for when I opened the door to leave Leika’s bed chamber, there I was, Raud Gríma, carrying an infant, facing near on a dozen Officers with their rifles pointed right at me.
When Finnarún seen me holding Vinring—for she was behind them all, but could see past well enough—she let out a shriek what’d wake the dead.
“Rikar!” she cried.
The Officers hesitated, several rifles dipping, and I considered bolting back through the chamber to the corridor, but I was afraid they’d fire and kill me and the baby.
“Oh, Officers! He has my son! Please take care!” Finnarún wailed. “He might hurt him! Oh, please get him away from him!”
Her son?
“Halt! Put the baby on the ground before you!” one of the Officers in front barked.
The rifles lifted again.
Well, you’re right fucked now, Ginna-my-girl.
I crouched slow-like and set Vinring on the floor at my feet, then straightened, raising my palms. My flesh ached all over, anticipating the feel of bullets hitting it.
Finnarún pushed through the crowd of Officers and grabbed Vinring, who started, for the first time since I’d gotten him, to cry. Soon’s she had him, I felt the Officers yank me by the arms, though it was a strange thing, for my vision narrowed so’s all I seen was Vinring in Finnarún’s arms. I’ve no memory of the faces of those Officers. One of’em might’ve been my’n brother, for all I know. Course, if that were true, he’d not have known me either, on account of the mask.
“Take him away,” one of them shouted, right at my ear.
As they pushed and jerked me through Leika’s apartments, I lost sight of Vinring. One of the Officers took hold of the silk of the mask and tore it off, and I heard a few exclamations on account of they’d not thought I was a woman. But still they marched me on, and then we were going through the grand salon, and I seen her lying on the ground: my poor mad konungdis. I knew I was as dead as she was, and no mistake. And after that I’ve no memory of anything, for the dread washed over me and made me as blind as she’d ever been.
Which is how I come to find myself in a cell in Grumflein, and how, after they let me out the next day to walk the courtyard for an hour, I seen Gaddi taking a turn around the grounds—he’d wound up a prisoner, just like me. It was a shock, by Frigga’s Wheel. I’d no wish to speak to my old broker, though I did wonder what’d gone wrong for him, to land him there.
When he seen me he marched right over, wouldn’t you know.
“Ginna Alvör,” he greeted me, and I felt a sick shudder roll over me to hear him say my name.
“Skyg Gaddi,” I answered.
“I’m not surprised to see you here,” he said with a bitter twist of his mouth. “You never had much sense, did you? I gave you into Finnarún Vaenn’s care and what do I hear but you’ve betrayed her and the konungdis herself. They say you’re a murderer, Ginna!”
I made no answer.
“They’ve a special word for those what murder royalty, you know,” he went on. “Regicide. You ever heard that word ’fore now?”
I had. I’d read my share of histories, after all. I never thought I’d become a player in a history myself, though—the thought gave me a pause.
“You never thought you’d kill the konungdis and escape, now did you? And you never gave a thought to your dear family, doing such a thing?”
My eyes caught his then, and my heart started to race. “What’re you about?”
“You don’t suppose you’ve held up your end of the bargain after al
l, have you?”
My heart hit my ribs like a bird in a trap. “And why would you go after them now, eh, Gaddi? What good would it do you?”
“Aw, you’ve nothing to fear from me, Ginna, after all,” Gaddi said with a grin. “I’m as stuck here as you, and I’ve no way to send a message to those what’re tasked with bringing punishment to your’n on my say so. Leastways, not ’til I get out.”
“And when’ll that be?” I asked, my voice raw and harsh. “I never heard of none what left Grumflein once they were inside its walls.”
Gaddi shrugged. “Not until Raud Gríma let’em free, sure enough. Do you suppose she’ll do for us like she did for them?”
I didn’t like to think so, and it wore on me like a sore long after I left Gaddi to his’n company.
Would Gaddi really go after my family, given the chance? I chose to think he’d not, for what profit was there in it for him? Gaddi always did what was good for Gaddi, after all. Hurting Rokja, Mum and Kisla (Amma, I reckoned, could handle herself, at least) would bring nothing good to Gaddi after I was gone. No, more likely he’d just found it amusing to taunt me about it, but his words were empty, by Frigga’s mercy.
The next day I never seen Gaddi, but I come face to face with none other’n Taf Spraki. Seemed he’d been taken some two months since, not long after the invasion.
“Ginna?” he gasped when he seen me.
It was fair strange when I felt glad to see Spraki, I can tell you, but his was a familiar face from days long gone, and I’d a sense I was set for execution sooner’n later. In fact, I was fair certain Finnarún’d meant to have the Officers shoot me on the spot that night in Leika’s rooms, and she’d not counted on my holding Vinring when she found me.
“What, by the chains, are you doing here?” Spraki demanded.
So I told him the whole sorry tale—had to wait ’til the following day to finish it, in fact, for the tale was longer’n I might have guessed.
“They think you killed Leika-Konungdis?” he said, stunned-like. His hands he held on his lap and for the first time ever, I seen they were covered in a mess of scars, like they’d burned.
After the Fall (Raud Grima Book 2) Page 30