If only Ysulte were here. She’d know exactly what to say.
Although… is that true? What exactly am I imagining Ysulte will tell me? She never really gives me any advice, other than that I need to trust myself.
So if I was trusting myself now, what exactly would I do?
Okay, Rhea, I say to myself quietly. Time to think like a queen.
Talking to my warriors, meeting them, touching them, has made me certain that the key to defeating Shar lies in my connection with my warriors. I’m certain that if I can make them understand who I am and see Shar for what she is, they will leave her and follow me. It’s in their instinct, in their blood. It’s all wrong for them to be serving Shar, that much is obvious to me.
So what do I do?
If what Eirik said was true, then getting close to the Warriors - physically close - would always be difficult. Yet I have this feeling that if I manage to be near them, manage to be alone with each of them for a good amount of time, then that underlying love, that white-hot connection, will reveal itself and convince them of who I really am.
But first, I need to get back to Ysulte. I need to figure out the best way to get to my warriors, and what I plan to do once I have them on my side.
There only seems to be one answer that I can think of, and that’s war. All-out war against Shar.
Trust yourself, dróttning.
I close my eyes, leaning back onto the cold stone of my cell wall.
I trust myself.
And then the flames start to close over my eyes again, and I am gone. When I open them, I am on the hillside again.
“You made it.”
Ysulte is still lying on her back, her breathing shallow but steady. Her eyes are closed, as if she’s diverting all her energy into words to welcome me, but she’s smiling.
“I made it back. It didn’t work.”
She says nothing. I guess she’s waiting for the outpouring of resentment and defeatism, but it doesn’t come. Instead I say it out loud - “I know what I need to do now.”
She smiles. She doesn’t need to say anything.
I take off my cloak and wad it into a pillow, which I place underneath her head. I rummage in her cloak and skirts until I’ve found a small canteen.
“You need water.”
“Thank you, my queen.” She takes a couple of sips and lies back again. I decide that I’m not going to use up any of her strength by making her ask me questions, and continue, thinking out loud, “I know now that the key to all this lies in the bond between me and my warriors. I cannot be without them and they cannot be without me. So, if I can get close to them, I know they’ll be loyal. That’s how Shar will be defeated.”
Ysulte says nothing, but there’s a smile flecking at the edge of her mouth again.
I suddenly realize. “That’s why you let me go back with Eirik that first time. You wanted me to get a taste of that feeling - of what it was like to have one of my Warriors at my side.”
“You sensed it,” she says in her cracked whisper. “You felt it in your heart. That feeling taught you more than I ever could.”
“So it was all on purpose? Even though you knew it wouldn’t work to try and talk to Shar?”
“We learn more from our failures than our successes, dróttning.”
I guess it’s true. From the first mission I got a taste of what it was like to have my Warriors with me. From the second I learned my own strength. From the third I learned how to use it, and realized what I need to do next.
So now the real work begins.
“I’m worried about leaving you, Ysulte,” I say. “You’re not strong.”
She opens one eye, as if that’s all she can do. “You know what the right thing to do is,” she says simply.
And it’s true.
I make her as comfortable as I can before I go. I walk down to the brook that bubbles at the bottom of the hill to fill her canteen with water. There’s a silent prayer on my lips and I just hope that an entity powerful enough can hear it. A cough from Ysulte is the only thing that breaks the silence. Instinctively I turn around, my eyes settling on her feeble body. Is it possible for someone to look so much worse mere minutes after you’ve seen them? It has to be the case, because even with seconds, Ysulte seems to be looking closer and closer to giving in.
Returning to her side, I rest her head on my cloak and tuck her own cloak around her. I sit and hold her hand for a long time, and I’m not sure whether I’m trying to give her my strength or take some of hers. Maybe it’s both.
“You cannot stay here with me.” She struggles to get the words out and I struggle to fight back tears.
I want to tell her that I can’t leave either, not when she’s in this condition. But when I look into her eyes, I know that arguing is the last thing I need to do. If I tell her I can’t leave, she’ll spend her last breath convincing me that it’s the right thing to do.
I nod at the words she doesn’t need to speak and place a hand on her cheek. She’s both cold and warm to the touch. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it’s true.
Then I stand up, I say goodbye, and I let the fire fold over my eyes, not knowing where I’m going but trusting that it’s the place I need to be.
I am back inside the castle walls. The air is different, ice-cold. The times when I was here before it felt like a warm October day, like autumn was dying but making the most of its last moments.
There’s none of that today. A fur cloak has appeared around my shoulders. I don’t need Eirik’s anymore, I have my own. That doesn’t change the fact that I crave his warmth, his smell. That I’d rather be cold with all of them by my side, than warm without them.
Instead of my previous dress I am wearing a tunic and leggings made of some kind of soft animal skin. The boots tightened on my feet are of the same material. A small dagger hugs my hip comfortingly.
I set off, not thinking too much about where I’m going, knowing that my legs will carry me to the place I need to be.
I head uphill, up a stony path and through a series of arches. I’ve never been to this part of the castle before - it’s nowhere near the family quarters where Shar and I spent our isolated childhood together. It’s the part of the castle built for ruling. A blue and silver flag flies from every roof and spills down the walls, and I realize with a jolt that this is Shar’s standard.
I keep walking, my head down, with that strange feeling that I’m approaching a great crowd growing inside me. I can hear a voice - Shar’s voice - though I can make out no words. It sounds as though it’s echoing in a great space, maybe absorbed by many silent, waiting ears.
I come to a huge courtyard, filled with people - maybe two thousand, maybe more. It’s easy to blend in here, but I keep my head down all the same.
Shar is standing on a raised platform at the other end of the courtyard. She is speaking with her voice raised to the sky, her arms flung wide as if to embrace her people - or perhaps just to show her own might.
On either side of her, two Warriors crouch. Eirik and Haki on her left, Johan and Karsi on her right. They are all kneeling on their right knee, their broadswords drawn and pointing down into the ground, leaning on the handles with their heads bowed. I squint, trying to see them properly. I feel like I’m sending out part of my soul to touch them - I long for them so badly. I long for the spark in their eyes, instead of the dullness that casts over them as they stand here. Despite how far away I am, I can see it. I can see the difference, feel it like the chill of a winter’s wind.
They look nothing like themselves. Their beautiful bronze skins are dulled and there are circles under their eyes as if they haven’t slept in years. They’re still physically magnificent - of course - nothing could take that away from them. But they don’t have that beautiful energy that they had before, the spirit that gave them the strength of wild horses. They’re almost as transparent-looking as they were the first time I saw them, all those lifetimes ago.
I try to focus instead on what
Shar is saying.
“My beloved people. We have labored long under the suffering of this winter. We have seen crops fail and livestock wither. We have seen our children grow up without ever having known the warmth of the summer sun on their faces. We have become a people of ice and frost. For twelve long years we have suffered in this way.”
Did she say twelve years? I remember that this is a different land, a different time, a different reality. Things work differently here. I guess even the weather knows that Shar isn’t supposed to be in power, and is doing its best to rebel. A murmur runs through the crowd. I scan the faces around me. They don’t look happy.
“Despite all these sufferings, I do not blame you,” Shar continues smoothly. For a second the arrogance of her words knocks me back - she doesn’t blame them? When surely she knows in her heart - if she has a heart, come to think of it - that this is all her fault?
A young woman standing next to me leans a little closer and mutters under her breath, “That’s all very nice, but where’s the food? We’re starving.”
I want to take her hand, want to comfort her. I’m supposed to be her queen, after all. Isn’t it my job to protect her from all this?
“I continue to be touched by your constancy and faith in your queen. I continue to bless you all for your loyalty and love. And as these Twelve Winter days begin - the days of our traditional celebration, when all other business is suspended - I draw you close to my heart, and swear to you that we will live out this winter and see summer again!”
A half-hearted cheer emerges from the crowd. It’s the kind of applause that seems forced. They don’t believe in it, but they fear what will happen if they keep their hands steadied. I wonder why, of course. If it’s because those who oppose her will be hurt. Or perhaps they’re hanging on o that last straw of hope, clapping just in case she really means it. Showing support so she won’t change her mind.
I focus my attention back on her. I can see Shar’s face from the distance. She looks pale, and her jaw is set into a harsh line, the way it was when we were kids and she was trying not to cry.
It’s incredible how clearly I can remember it.
I wonder if she’s glad that she did what she did. I wonder if she wishes that she’d saved herself all the effort and let me take power after all. It’s clear that her people aren’t happy and everything’s going wrong, and she’s trying to cling to power despite it all. Poor Shar. She always did bite off more than she could chew.
The crowd begins to disperse. On instinct, I follow the girl who had leaned over and spoken to me. She’s dressed in a tunic and leggings almost identical to my own, but her own fur cloak is patchy and doesn’t look nearly as warm. She catches sight of me hovering at her elbow and gives me a quick smile, looking me up and down.
“I take it you’re the new handmaiden?” she asks me cheerfully. I blink. What does she mean?
“Er… handmaiden? You don’t mean to the queen, do you?”
“Of course not,” she rolls her eyes. “As if I’d serve her directly. I mean, maybe I would. You can’t turn your nose up at any job in the castle, not with these harvests. You know. Handmaiden.” She stares at me as if I’m stupid, and then clearly realizes that she’s going to have to clarify. “Serving the Queen’s Warriors.”
“Oh!” My heart jumps. This is my chance. This is where my own unconscious wisdom was taking me. “Yes, of course.” I realize that I must have seemed like a complete dunce and hope that it hasn’t made her suspicious. In my mind I reach out to her, soothing the doubt that I can see in her face, urging her not to question it too much.
It must have worked. Her expression clears.
“Well, come on then. We won’t be needed for the feast, so that gives me time to let you know what’s what.”
I nod. It seems like an incredible stroke of luck, but I’ll take it.
She leads me down a narrow stone path off the courtyard where we’d been standing. “I’m Lara, by the way,” she throws back over her shoulder.
“Rhea,” I reply. My name means nothing here, so why not use it? It’s one less thing to have to lie about.
“So,” she begins, as if she’s given this talk a long time. “As you know, it is the traditional role of the handmaidens to serve the Queen’s four Warriors. The role has always been filled by beautiful young women - so take the compliment.” She winks. “Legend has it that this is to prove the constancy of the Warriors’ devotion to the queen - that even when the Warriors are surrounded by lovely young girls, they are not tempted away from their love of the queen.” She says the words in a dreamy trance- only half talking to me. I don’t complain. I’ll take any information at this point so I listen intently, careful not to miss a beat.
“And is it true?” I ask. Lara doesn’t seem like the most discreet person, so I might as well get any information out of her that I can.
Lara shrugs. “I’m not so sure. I think there’s a reason why the Queen ordered our livery to be changed.” She plucks at her skin tunic. “It’s not exactly the most elegant outfit in the world. Anyway…” We come out of the narrow passage and into another courtyard, which is filled with the rich, sweaty smell of horses. “Our duties are simple. We tend to the Warrior’s horses. We keep their armor clean and their quarters tidy. We prepare their food. We do all the things that they don’t have to do, basically…” She picks up a broom and begins to sweep the yard. “…So that they aren’t distracted from their real job.”
“Protecting the queen,” I say, glad that I at least know enough to fill a bit of silence. Lara shrugs.
“Protecting the queen. Serving the queen. You know… all their duties.”
There’s something she isn’t saying, but I know what it is. I find myself a broom and help her to sweep the yard. She continues talking, telling me stuff about which horse is whose, what the mealtimes are, but I’m not really listening. The only question I’m interested in answering is - when am I going to get to be close to my Warriors again? I am hungry for their presence, almost beginning to starve. The way the four of them looked when I saw them on the platform hurt me. I’m longing to heal them, and have them heal me.
“These are the Warriors’ quarters,” Lara says casually, opening the door to the room in front of us. I blink. There’s just a single bed in the middle of the stone cell, with four neat piles of fur and bedding placed on stools along the wall.
“But… there’s only one bed,” I say stupidly. Lara laughs.
“You’re really not well-acquainted with the traditions, are you? You must be good at something - gods know why they hired you.” She rolls her eyes, but seems to take pity on me. “Only one Warriors sleeps in here at a time. One sleeps in here, two guard the queen’s chamber, and then one sleeps in the queen’s bed.”
I stop dead, staring at her. “In her bed?”
Lara laughs. “What an innocent you are! Yes, you know perfectly well that the Warriors aren’t just the queen’s servants. Traditionally, I mean. They’re what she has instead of a husband, so that she can have her desires fulfilled and rule without the interference of a husband.” She sighs. “You really need to go back to school, Rhea.”
“And do they… really?”
“Well, nobody knows, do they?” Lara lowers her voice confidentially. “There’s one of them in there every night, of course. But that’s to be expected. Some people wonder whether it’s just a symbolic thing. Perhaps they sleep at the bottom of her bed like dogs or something.” She laughs, and I feel the sting of insult against my Warriors in my own chest.
She seems to realize that I’m not appreciating the joke and sobers up. “I know, I sound terribly disrespectful. Don’t get me wrong, Rhea. I love and honor the Queen’s Warriors above any other men in the kingdom. They are the bravest and most warlike of all our men, and they’re ready at any moment to lay down their lives for the queen. It’s just…” she leans closer, and her eyes start to dance again. “I just can’t imagine it, can you?”
I can
imagine it. A different one of my beloved Eirik, Johan, Haki and Karsi, in bed with my sister every night. Kissing her. Touching her. Making love to her. The thought physically hurts me, and the only thing that keeps me from breaking my disguise is the knowledge that they’ve been duped, that they would never betray me willingly.
But at least I’ve learned one useful thing from this talk with Lara.
I know where I can get my Warriors alone.
It takes a few days before I have any luck.
The Twelve Winter Days are a yearly festival of feasting and general merry-making. That ought to make it easier to talk to my warriors - after all, they’re not away from the castle, following the queen around, or forced to sit up with her own state business.
But she keeps them up and feasting late into the night. Or at least - she’s feasting, they’re behind her throne, standing watch. Occasionally I sneak into the banquet hall to get a look at them - mostly just because I can’t resist and I’ll risk the danger that Shar might see and recognize me. They stand behind her looking grave, their faces just caught in the light of the flaming torches.
I whisper, under the sound of the music and the laughing and the noise of the feast, that we’ll be together soon. Maybe some part of them will hear me.
On the third night I have my chance.
People keep coming back and forth through the servants’ quarters, gloomily reporting that the feast is not going well, that the queen is angry and fretful and keeps sending dishes back. Which is great new, believe it or not. Staying out of Shar’s sight, careful of where I tread, I still manage to get in the middle of it- a literal thief in the night. I assist in bringing the plates away, but my plates don’t end up where the other servants take them. I’ve turned underneath my bed into a refrigerator of sorts, stacking more and more plates than it can hold. More food than the people outside these walls have seen in a really long time. When no more dishes come, I slip beyond the castle walls, leaving plates in front of those who look a half a spoon away from death. Their faces turn up to meet mine, but with the shawl pulled low, I know that they can’t recognize me. I don’t wait long enough for gratitude. Instead, I run away as soon as the realize what it is I’ve done.
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