Chapter 15 #3
The thanes were supposed to just throw their roses, not step foot on the hallowed ice. Instead, they climbed over the rails, cutting their way across the ice on their skates, their faces all positively glowing.
The one in front was a young woman, two golden braids wound onto her head. She dipped a curtsy. “Three cheers for Her Majesty, Queen Valkyrja! Hip-hip—”
“Huzzah!” the other thirty-five shouted.
“Hip-hip—”
“Huzzah!”
“Hip-hip—”
“Huzzah!”
The group all dropped to their knees. “The thanes bend the knee to our queen.”
Kyrja pressed a hand to her heart. “The Crown acknowledges the thanes. I pledge my service to you for all my days.”
“So shall it be.”
After they rose, the thanes skated forward, grins on their faces as they stretched their long-stemmed flowers up toward the dais.
Kyrja knelt down to take the roses—and she thanked each one by name. He knew that Dania had been the one to submit the names of the thanes for this honor, and he realized only now that Kyrja must have met them all in Dania’s clinic over the years.
But not just met them. She remembered them. Enough to greet them like old friends. His chest filled again with that pride he had no right to feel.
Only once the thanes had returned to their seats and Kyrja stood tall again did the ice wall in front of the Blessed come down. Kyrja moved her gaze over the line of them. “Does Ivar Emilsson speak for the lot of you?”
Nik shifted from foot to foot, glancing at Arne.
Traditionally, the new monarch shouldn’t address the Blessed before they made their show of fealty, certainly shouldn’t ask them a question that would disrupt their ranks.
Arne, as the First Seat of the Grand Council and the one in charge of this event, could have intervened.
But then, it was the Blessed who had already broken from tradition. Arne just smirked.
A woman stepped forward, chin up. “He does not, Your Majesty.”
Kyrja tilted her head. “In my court, you will find that traditions will be upheld only when they benefit the people—all the people. We will break from those that no longer serve us.” She moved her head, and given the uncomfortable shifting among the Blessed, she must have met and held each gaze.
“By the Rules of Challenge, the twelve vacant seats are mine to fill by appointment, if I make my decisions within a month, and the appointees will serve for four years uncontested before Challenges or the Proving can begin again. And I will fill them, based not on brute strength but on those who demonstrate themselves to be loyal to the true heart of Fjordlandi—those who have a heart for all our people. Tonight, Laila Magnusdottir, you may lead the Blessed onto the ice as a nod to your bravery in disavowing your cousin’s disloyalty.
But consider the existing ranks wiped clean hereafter. ”
Ivar looked about to shout in protest, but before he could, Laila leapt onto the ice, the other Blessed rushing to follow.
They called up ice, but Kyrja was clearly not in the mood to humor them. They’d no sooner launched it into the air than she shattered it and turned it to snow that drifted slowly down.
The crowd went wild. Shouts of “Long live Queen Valkyrja!” tripped over each other, blending in with whistles and hollers and deafening applause.
Arne seemed to be doing some mental calculation. With no skating to pick up the flowers necessary—which is what usually signaled the dance—he shrugged and nodded toward the musicians. They all picked up their bows, their maestro awaiting their cue.
Kyrja stepped off the dais, onto what was moments ago thin air. An ice step rose to meet her, then another and another, until she stood on the rink, the stairs melting down again behind her.
Ivar shoved his way through the Blessed still moving toward the outside of the rink, gaze on Kyrja and intent clear. He’d try to reclaim what he could.
Far too late. The first dance went to the Blessed who led off the display portion of the ceremony—not the one who’d tried to snub his queen.
Nik brought a wall of flame up through the ice in front of Ivar—quickly extinguished and iced over, but it got his point across.
He moved out onto the ice again, turning to face Kyrja. He bowed.
A grin played at her lips. “You’re not wearing ice skates, Nikanor,” she said, too softly for anyone else to hear.
He grinned back. “It’s worse than that. I haven’t the first clue how to dance.”
She laughed. “Didn’t teach you that in your abandoned kyrka?”
He shrugged. And offered his hand anyway. “Even so, it would be my honor to accompany you around the rink to greet your people.”
She put her fingers in his palm, sending a blessedly cool tingle up his arm.
The orchestra launched into a song.
Nik expected Kyrja to move to his side so they could walk around the long oval, but she settled her other hand on his shoulder, leaving him little choice but to set his on her waist. Frost and snow, but he hoped he didn’t singe the very lovely silk she wore.
He cleared his throat. “Not lying, Kyrja. I really don’t know how to dance. ”
She winked at him. “I’ve got it. You just keep melting the ice under your feet like you’re doing. I can use it to propel us.”
He was…? Of course he was. As soon as he focused on it, he could feel himself drawing heat continually up from the magma streams beneath the stone of the floor, which of course melted the ice.
She must be continually refreezing it. But now he felt a pool of water directly under his feet, and he slid a bit in the puddle.
Within moments, they were sliding around together, twirling and gliding without ever moving their feet. The crowd cheered, and Nik couldn’t help but laugh and pull her a little closer. For balance, that was all.
She angled a smile up at him. “Thank you, Nik. If you hadn’t come out…”
His fingers pressed encouragement into her waist. “You risked everything for me. I will gladly spend the rest of my life returning the favor.”
Emotion welled in her eyes, and she pressed her lips together. Something he knew no Blessed queen would have allowed before, at least not in recent history.
He loved that she felt so much, without shame. And also took pity on her and grinned. “Sorry about almost burning down your arena.”
Her laugh rang out again. “Perhaps your family will help me replace the wood with stone. Make it a bit more fireproof for future exhibits.”
He glanced up, not to try to find his family, but to gauge the faces of those they passed. He expected to see fear, revulsion directed at him—and there were a few eyes in which that was reflected. Mostly, though, he saw curiosity. Amazement. Maybe a bit of awe.
He’d forced the introduction, yes, after he’d been the one to say that could come later.
They’d shown Reykstoll exactly who they were, what they could do—and also made it clear that they served Fjordlandi and the queen.
Not a bad turn, he hoped. If they reinstituted Challenges and the Aflame took part in them too… well, that could be fun.
But they’d definitely want to make sure they didn’t burn down the arena around them. “I daresay that can be arranged.”