Lady Celia wouldn’t have gotten herself into a mess like mine.
*
Celia looked down at the table, trying not to squirm. Everyone was staring at her, she could feel it. She hadn’t felt so much on display since her first night in Quartzholm, when Neven had paraded her in front of all the Jarls and Lords of Nuvinland. For a moment she wanted to hide, but then she remembered Gudrun’s coaching. “People will never think more of you than you think of yourself. Hold your head high.” Celia raised her eyes, pretending she was comfortable under the scrutiny, and listened to the skald’s exaggerated and glossed version of her first few weeks in Alfheim. It bore little resemblance to what had really happened. The spin-doctors back home could take lessons from a Norse skald.
“Over Bifrost, Freyr led the fair Lady Celia from Midgard. Leaving her home far behind, she bravely stepped into Alfheim—”
She didn’t remember Freyr, or any other god for that matter, leading her anywhere. All she remembered was finding those beautiful petroglyphs in the foothills outside of Tucson, falling through a rainbow of swirling color, and her desperate fear at finding herself in a strange and unforgiving desert.
“—and greeted Lord Dahleven with bold words.”
Oh, yeah. Bold. I begged him for water.
“Lord Dahleven greeted Freyr’s gift with warm welcome…”
Right. He thought I was a spy or an Outcast.
Celia remembered those first, fear-filled days on the trail. Nothing in her life, not even her job as an emergency operator, had prepared her for the sounds of men screaming and clashing in mortal conflict .
“…Back to back they fought, surrounded by foes. Lord Dahleven cloaked his sword in their enemies’ blood, while, like a Valkyrie, Lady Celia opened the door to Valhalla for them.”
She’d missed some of the story, and Sangor had left a lot out.
“…she blew the breath of the gods into the boy,” Sangor continued, “and death fled.”
All the Nuvinlanders knew this part of the story, and they smiled and nodded; the Tewakwe whispered and looked wonderingly at her. Celia felt her face grow hot. All she’d done was use her CPR training. She’d since taught rescue breathing to Dahleven and Ragni and a dozen others.
“…The Outcasts carried away the fair lady to torture—and worse,” Sangor intoned with dark implication. “‘I’ll not submit to vile intent,’ our Valkyrie cried! Up she leapt, tossing aside foe after foe as they tore the clothing from her back. Naked, she fought through the dark and dangerous caverns…”
Celia blushed more deeply and felt Dahleven stiffen at her side. It still bothered him that he hadn’t been able to protect her from that.
Sangor’s version of events grew from exaggeration to fabrication, and Celia held back a snort as the skald wrapped up his florid tale.
“…Broken magic takes payment where it will, leaving only ash scattered by a bitter wind.”
Nice and tidy. No mention of my mistakes, or the Hidden Talents, or the Elves. Of course, no one knew about the Elves. Not even Neven. Well, almost no one. Only Angrim and Eirik and Fender, and they’d all sworn fealty—and secrecy—to Dahleven.
“Thus did Freyr’s gift, our Valkyrie Lady Celia, save Quartzholm. Nuvinland returned to peace with our steadfast Tewakwe friends, and Kon Neven opened his arms to the Lady as a daughter-by-marriage,” Sangor concluded.
Celia jumped as Dahleven whooped loudly, echoed by Ragni on her right. They both stood, pulling her to her feet. The Nuvinlanders began cheering and stamping. Celia wanted to hide. She didn’t deserve the praise. Her mistakes had very nearly brought disaster and death on everyone present. The Tewakwe added their ululating voices to the din. Dahleven pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She stiffened. This wasn’t his usual warm, affectionate embrace. This was an act of possession, of ownership. He’s using me like a politician uses a photo-op. Anger supplanted her embarrassment and she tried to push away. Dahleven didn’t seem to notice. He bent her backward in a dip, forcing her to clutch his shoulders to steady herself. The Nuvinlanders shouted all the louder, stomping and whistling their approval.
When Dahleven finally broke contact and straightened, Celia forced a glacial smile, all too aware that everyone present was watching. Now was not the time to vent her anger and hurt at being used that way. But later, she’d leave no doubt left in Dahleven’s mind that he’d stepped over a line.
*
Dahleven released Celia and grinned, not letting his confusion show. What put a burr under her blanket? Sangor’s tale had been quite flattering. She had nothing to complain about there. And he’d just publicly reinforced her position in the Kon’s family. So why was she sitting as if she had a poker strapped to her back?
On the other side of Celia, Ragni was grinning. Odin’s Eye. Dahleven glared at him. Sometimes he hated having a brother who knew his every feeling.
Ragni pulled a face. “You wound me, brother.” He didn’t look wounded.
Celia glanced curiously at his brother, then turned back to Dahleven. He could see her trying to pull free of her anger.
“Your mother has had me practicing a lot of your dances. Will you dance with me tonight?” she asked Dahleven.
“Do Valkyries dance outside of Valhalla?” Ragni asked.
Celia lifted her chin and arched her eyebrows. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Ragni laughed. “Spoken like a true sister.”
“Unfortunately, no,” Dahleven said, wishing he could accept her offer of truce. “Only the men dance tonight.”
Celia’s frown returned.
“At Winterfest we’ll be feasting for three nights running,” Dahleven said. “We can dance the nights through, then.”
Celia nodded, and smiled flatly.
His father and Loloma met in the center of the floor and began to step to the music, opening with the dance traditionally performed at trade gatherings. After they’d completed one pattern, he and Ragni joined them. Other men rose, and soon all the men present were stamping and twining in the complex pattern, clapping and shouting in time.
The music and pattern shifted and Neven and the Kikmongwi stepped out to watch the younger men dance. The steps repeated three times, then the drumbeat and the pace accelerated.
One of the Nuvinlanders faltered and stepped out of the dance.
The beat picked up. Dahleven’s feet flew with the cadence. He’d danced this many times and enjoyed the challenge even if he wasn’t one of the better dancers.
The pattern twisted. The tempo increased. The insistent drumbeat pulsed in his blood, quickening his steps. Two Tewakwe fell out of the pattern and withdrew. Dahleven grinned, reveling in his muscles’ response to the dance with the same primitive joy he felt wielding a sword in a good practice session. The drums hastened. He barely noted when another Nuvinlander bowed out. He was deep in the dance; nothing existed but the strong rapid beat of the drums and fierce joy of competition.
The rhythm hurried faster yet, and his misstep jarred him out of his trance. With a groan and a rueful grin he stepped back, letting the circle of dancers tighten.
Only seven left. He didn’t often last so long. One of the seven was Ragni, as usual. The dance would end when only five remained; the victory going to the side with at least three dancers.
Another Tewa left the dance. Even odds.
The six circled, feet flashing too rapidly to see. The rhythm escalated; the dancers responded. A Nuvinlander fell out of the pattern, leaving three Tewakwe, Ragni, and another Nuvinlander still dancing. This round to the Tewakwe, then.
The triumphant five clapped and shouted, then linked arms over shoulders and danced the final, slower pattern, while the audience clapped in time.
*
Saeun sat in the loose half-circle of women and tried to keep her attention focused on the conversation. The music had changed. The dancing was no longer directly competitive, but the men were competing nevertheless. They challenged one another with athletic exaggera
tions and elaborate footwork improvisations in an otherwise simple pattern.
Ragni danced as if he had a second Talent for it. He made everything he did look smooth and effortless, even as his footwork drew a shout of approval from the other dancers. She loved watching him move. She loved—him.
What was she going to do? Her own vision had warned her of loss. Thora’s reading of the stones had promised opportunity, but they’d also warned her to act quickly when the time came. To do what?
She was staring again. Saeun pulled her gaze back to the women she sat with.
“…through the night, but the flames offer no protection.” Nai’awika said.
“And your warriors cannot stop them?” Lady Ingirid, on Lady Celia’s right, asked.
“Like the wind, the katsinas move unseen, except for their effect. Few can see into the spirit world to challenge them, and the shamans counsel against it.”
“What do your shamans recommend?” Gudrun asked softly.
“They do not speak with one voice. Some call for a cleansing. It is because the ways of Tiowa have been abandoned, they say, that this sorrow has fallen upon us.” Nai’awika looked steadily at Gudrun.
Gudrun shook her head slightly. “I doubt any lack of faith has brought this on you.”
“So I think also. Our kopavi are open. Yet the spirits walk among us. It is a great honor, yet great sorrow comes from it.”
Saeun clenched her hand in her skirts, then forced herself to relax. Her mind buzzed with questions. What has this got to do with us? Why did they come so far to tell us this? What kind of magic do the Tewakwe have to protect them? She thought of her own magic. Magic that the priests did not know of. Magic they would exile her for using. Do the Tewa women also have magic that their shamans know nothing about?
“But what can you do if you are already open to Tiowa’s voice? What cleansing do the shamans expect of you?” Lady Celia asked.
“It is not only we who must be cleansed, Newborn; it is all of you, as well.”
“Us?” Ingirid asked. “We’ve done nothing—”
“What sort of cleansing do they require?” Gudrun interrupted her oldest daughter.
“That, they have not decided,” Nai’awika answered.
CHAPTER FOUR
“SAEUN!”
Saeun froze for a moment at the sound of Ragni’s voice. What could she say if he questioned her fears again? She had no better answer than she had yesterday, despite lying awake most of the night. She turned to greet him and froze a second time.
Lord Dahleven was with him. She had rarely seen him in the last five months, and then only at a distance. They hadn’t spoken since he’d come to her rooms to thank her for her help in rescuing Lady Celia. His gratitude had been sincere enough, though he’d almost balked at using her unsanctioned magic to do it. She swallowed her fear. His risk was nearly as great as hers if the truth came out. And though he’d made no promise to her, he’d kept their secret. So far.
In a way, she was relieved to see him. At least his presence would keep Ragni’s conversation off awkward topics. Though they hadn’t gone to any great measure to be secret, they’d been more discreet than most lovers to keep gossip at a minimum. Especially family gossip.
Saeun curtsied. “Welcome back, Lord Dahleven. Good morning, Father Ragnar.”
Ragni’s grin split his light brown beard as he stepped close and ran his hand lightly down her arm to her elbow. “Such formality! How does the morning find you, Saeun?”
Her hope of an impersonal encounter faded like mist in sunlight. He might as well have kissed me. Saeun blushed at Ragni’s familiar touch but didn’t pull away. If the family had ever doubted their relationship before, they wouldn’t now. She glanced at Lord Dahleven. His expression was politely neutral, but she thought she saw dismay in his ever so slightly widened eyes. He won’t rejoice for us. Not knowing what he does about me.
Ragni’s hand remained on her arm. “Have you breakfasted yet?” he asked. “Will you join us?”
“I ate with Lady Kaidlin and the boys.”
“Join us anyway.”
She shook her head, glad of an honest excuse. “I’m fetching a piece of stitchery for your sister. She expects me back.” She knew Ragni sensed every fleeting bit of fear and relief she felt and hoped he’d hold his questions until they were alone.
Ragni’s eyes frowned, though he kept the smile on his lips. He held her gaze a little too long, then turned to his brother. “We’re on our own then.” He did kiss her then, lightly, on the lips. “Until later,” he promised softly.
“Lady Saeun.” Lord Dahleven nodded politely then turned and kept pace with his brother as they continued down the corridor.
A little further down the hall, Saeun stepped into her room. I wish I knew what Lord Dahleven was saying. But she could guess well enough. “Your lover is a lying sorceress.” And, “Escape her while you can!” How betrayed Ragni would feel.
I should have told him. But she hadn’t. At first she’d had no reason to. She’d known Ragni’s reputation. He never tarried long with any woman, so she’d thought to just enjoy the dalliance. But he’d started to care—and so had she. I should have broken it off. Or told him. But how could she? She didn’t want him to turn from her, as he surely would have if she’d told him that she practiced forbidden magic. He was a priest of Baldur, sworn to enforce the Laws of Sanction. Laws she defied, as had her mother before her.
Fear whispered in her ear and slithered darkly through her soul. She didn’t want to lose his love. And so she’d kept silent—and tried the far scrying. But what she’d seen had only fed her fear, which had grown stronger, coiling tighter around her heart.
She almost threw herself into the window seat. How could I have been so stupid? She pounded the cushion. But she’d thought Ragni would say his farewells long before Lord Dahleven learned they were lovers.
When I see him later, I must end it. She couldn’t be his elskerinne. How could she have entertained such a foolish notion? She shouldn’t even be his lover. Her stomach felt like she’d swallowed a stone. The air tasted flat. She wanted to run after him, to get the pain over with, but Lord Dahleven would be there. At least she would spare herself the shame of an audience. She could do nothing this minute. Ragni would be in conference all day with the Kon and the Tewakwe. Later. She’d tell him later.
Her decision felt like a death. Feeling as if she should don a gray veil, Saeun stared for a moment around her chamber. It didn’t seem like the same room where they’d shared so much joy. Though it appeared unaltered, it felt different, empty.
She looked more closely. It wasn’t the same. Something wasn’t right. She’d left Gert, her maid, tidying, but it was more than that.
Fear jolted through her, stealing her breath. Someone has been here. Her limbs felt wooden as she moved to her trunk with its hidden drawer. Was it an inch farther from the wall than she’d left it? The chest had been her mother’s once, made to hide the things she’d passed on to her daughter: the tools of her magic.
The catches were sprung. Saeun knew what she would find, but she opened the drawer anyway. Her eyes needed to see for her to believe.
Empty. The tools of her magic were gone.
She’d been found out.
*
“Enter.” Celia called out in response to a tentative knock, wondering who would be calling at her rooms before breakfast.
A serving woman let herself in, then bobbed a curtsey. “I’m Halla, my lady. I’m here in Thora’s stead. She’s been sent to serve the Kikmongso-so-so-”
“Kikmongsowuhti,” Celia finished for the woman standing in front of her. She kept her face and her tone neutral, hiding her disappointment. Thora had become a friend in the months she’d served as Celia’s maid, giving her much needed advice on how best to get along in her new world. Well, it’s only until the Tewakwe go home.
The woman was past the first blush of youth but she had rich brown hair and eyes as liquid as a doe’s.
Her left cheek bore a large port-wine birthmark and she did her best to keep that side of her face turned away from Celia. A little laser work and that would be a memory. But they didn’t have lasers here, or trauma rooms or antibiotics. Celia sighed. There was so much beauty here in Alfheim, but it lacked a lot, too.
“Another can serve you, if you prefer, my lady.”
“Oh, no! I wasn’t sighing because of you, Halla. I was just lost in my own thoughts. But there’s not much for you to do; at least, not at the moment.” Her gesture indicated her already dressed form. “Though you could bring me—”
Something darted behind the bed, half seen from the corner of Celia’s eye. She turned to look, but saw nothing.
“My lady?”
She turned back to Halla. What had she been saying? “Uh—towels. I could use some fresh towels.”
Movement. Celia’s head snapped back toward the bed. “Did a cat come in with you?”
“No, my lady.”
She had to take a closer look. I know I saw something this time. “Are you sure?” She walked around the bed, knelt, and looked underneath. Nothing. Celia straightened.
The maid’s eyes darted nervously. Probably wondering if her new mistress is imagining things. Maybe I am. This was becoming annoying. And unnerving. The first few times it had seemed just a trick of shifting light and shadow. That had started over a month ago. But this was real. I’m sure of it. Almost.
Was this a side effect of the Elves’ touch? Was Dahleven seeing things too? It wouldn’t be the first time they’d seen something no one else could. But what was it?
Celia assumed what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Well, never mind. If it’s a cat, she’s well hidden now. She’ll come out when she’s hungry, no doubt.” She shivered. Or something will.
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