Chapter 7 #2
Her head turned toward the left. Fodur didn’t even blink out of turn. “Do you need something, Fodur? In the prison?”
They’d reached one of the rooms he’d taken over, and he led the way inside, then slammed the door behind her. “I need you not to fail at one thing in your life, Valkyrja.”
She felt stiff as an icicle. Though he indicated a chair before his massive desk, she ignored it.
“And what exactly have I failed at in the prison? I have done what you asked. I took over Einar’s protocols, I made my own inspection and have everything how I want it.
” Or how she wanted it today, anyway. She intended to make a more thorough inspection after the funerals and make some real changes.
His ice kept pressing against hers, down in that underground lair. But he must not be trying too hard, because she had no trouble keeping him out.
“Is that so?” Fodur leaned onto the desk—the better to glare at her.
“Then why have the cells thawed? I specifically told you to make me aware of your shortcomings as you encounter them, so that I can shore them up. I only need you to display the appearance of competency, Valkyrja, long enough for me to find another match and raise another child capable of doing what is needed.”
He…what? Kyrja bristled, so many arguments springing to her tongue that she didn’t know which to give voice to first. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have taken up any of them, wouldn’t have said a word.
But now? She leaned onto the side of the desk opposite him, stared him down.
“I believe the question is why were the cells frozen solid? A thane cannot survive more than a few days at those temperatures with no blankets, no hot food or drink. The convicts down there were sentenced to life in prison, not death by freezing.”
Her father sneered. “And they live the rest of their lives in prison—we never guarantee how long that will be. Why waste precious resources on violent criminals?”
“What violent criminals?” She gave a shove with her ice, pushing him from the prison altogether.
“I looked at the records. Petty theft and protests, that’s all anyone down there was charged with.
And strangely, I can find no records of any of their trials.
So for all I know, they’re not even guilty. ”
She hadn’t taken long to look after leaving Nik’s cell, thinking it wouldn’t require more than a cursory glance through the records.
All she’d found, however, were the accusations, always by a Fjorder.
And then the sentencing, from the High Council—the twelve most powerful Blessed.
Oh, those were labeled as trials, but they weren’t.
There were no records of men of law assigned to them.
Of evidence presented. They were never given the chance to prove their innocence, just handed down a verdict—negative, each and every time.
Fodur’s ice-blue eyes sparked. Burned like the hottest flame. “Relinquish control of the prison, Valkyrja, so I can return it to its proper state.”
Wait. Could he really not just wrest it from her? Impossible.
She narrowed her eyes. “You conferred control to me, publicly and legally. You said, for all on the Two Councils to hear, that I was the new warden, the new law over it. Its proper state is what I say it is. And I say we are not tyrants or worse, to lock away our subjects with no more than a single accusation against them, without proper trial, and deliberately kill them within a week.”
His jaw pulsed. His ice again pressed against hers, down below them.
Hadn’t Einar said once that strength came from the very act of ruling?
That the more she really used her power, the more powerful it would become?
This must be proof of that. Fodur had given her authority, and exercising it made her once-weak magic stronger.
That was the only possible explanation for how easily she held him back.
“You make a mockery of the Crown.” His words were a low rumble. “You are unfit to be a princess of Fjordlandi—”
“Enough.” The Song from the kyrka filled her mind, her ears, blocking out the noise of his displeasure.
She straightened. “I am not Mamma’s pet anymore, Fodur.
I am your only surviving child, the Heir, invested by you with authority over the storms and the prison, as witnessed by the Two Councils and all the Blessed.
If you wish to recall that authority, you must do so through the proper means. ”
Fodur’s ice pinged at the windows. His frost climbed the walls. “You really want me to Challenge you? Publicly? For all to see your shame?”
She silenced the ice. Called the frost away. And marveled that it listened. To her, rather than to him.
He noticed. She could tell first from the new flame of rage in his eyes, and then from the way his face went pale as he fought silently to wrest control.
And failed.
Failed. Kyrja’s stomach sank from knots into leaden dread. Was Fodur ill? Dying? Why else would his power be weaker than hers?
Or…? No.
It was his anger weakening him. His rage. Hadn’t he always said that the key to their magic was impassiveness? That emotion ate away at the ice?
She lifted her chin. “Your anger melts your ice, Fodur. It’s understandable. You lost a son, a daughter, a consort—”
“I need none of them!” He shoved at the desk, but it moved only an inch toward her before she froze it in place. “And I do not need lectures from you.”
She stepped away, toward the door. “We can discuss the Ice Prison situation more after the funerals. If you wish to make an official Challenge, I should hope you at least wait until you’ve commended our family’s bodies to the mountain.
And Fodur—I expect to witness a trial for Nikanor Tristansson. A fair one.”
This time, her father’s frost burst over the whole room in a single, breath-snatching moment.
She didn’t even try to stop it. Why bother, when she’d be gone in another few seconds?
“You will not make demands of me, child. You are not queen—you will never be queen. If I were to die today, you’d have a dozen Challenges by nightfall, and any one of the other Blessed could defeat you in two minutes.
I don’t know what’s come over you, but stand down and return to your proper place before you shame your mother’s memory. ”
She recognized his words for what they were, a frozen arrow aimed at her heart. The place that had always been softest—Mamma.
But he clearly didn’t understand love, if he really thought he could weaponize it like that.
She lifted her brows and wrenched the door open, sending frost scattering from the seam.
“I intend to make her proud, Fodur. I pray she’s watching from Himmel, and I pray she’s smiling to see me becoming exactly what she always said I could be.
Worthy. Worthy of the Blessing the Giver has given. ”
She didn’t wait for a response. Just stepped into the corridor and pulled the door closed behind her—in time to hear something shatter against it.
A Vektor stood at attention in the hall, and his throat bobbed with a hard swallow—Viggo, her father’s highest-ranked non-magical royal guard.
She expected him to ignore her, as the guards always did.
To pretend he didn’t even see her. Or else to scowl at her like the brave ones sometimes would when she displeased Fodur again.
Instead, he dipped his head. Lifted the hand holding his ceremonial spear. And saluted her with it.
A sign of deference due only to the king.
She spun away rather than bear witness to treason.