Chapter 20
Kyrja opened her bedroom door that evening to find Viggo waiting, a full contingent of Vektors with him.
She nodded a greeting but couldn’t manage a smile as she led the way along the corridor that would take them most quickly out of the palace, to the mountain overlook she’d chosen for the meeting.
It had only seemed fair. This decision would impact the Aflame more than anyone. Why should it be given in the palace?
She’d dressed in the most audacious gown her dressmaker had yet sent over, one that had seemed so entirely perfect that she couldn’t even consider saving it for another night.
One that said Fjordlandi—the new Fjordlandi.
It had red-orange at the hem that licked up the white skirt like flames, the highest tongue of it reaching to her thigh on one side.
It had only one sleeve, on the side opposite that highest flame, bedecked with crystals and beads that mimicked falling snow that trailed down the bodice as well.
She hadn’t needed Dania to tell her this was what she should wear as she faced King Stefanos—which was good, because Kyrja had sent her friend home with Sven earlier, to discuss what they wanted to say in tomorrow’s meeting.
She’d chosen a titanium necklace crafted to look like dripping icicles, left her hair to fall in its riot of curls down her back, and topped it all, of course, with the fire-and-ice crown she’d created at her coronation.
Though her insides still trembled whenever she thought of Elianne taking her place, at least she looked the part. Looked like a queen—fitting, to face down a king.
Kyrja was early to arrive at the snow-covered plateau but signaled the guards to disperse to their predetermined locations. That way she could pace in peace.
Except that she only made one turn before Nik appeared from the tunnel just above the plateau. His presence shouldn’t bring her the relief it did. Especially when guilt pricked at her. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He leapt to the snow, and it melted around him as he strode to her. She expected him to pause a step away, perhaps offer his arm and then join her pacing. Instead, he pulled her straight into a hug and held on.
It should have felt awkward, since Mamma and Dania were the only people who had ever embraced her.
It didn’t. It felt comfortable yet exciting, pulse-racing yet soothing.
Like everything she’d hoped it would. It felt right.
“I’m sorry,” she said into his shoulder.
Because he was surely only hugging her now because he needed it, needed the embrace before they sent his mother away from him yet again.
First her father’s edict—now their own. “I wish there were a better way.”
“You don’t need to be sorry.” He stroked a hand down her hair.
A shiver coursed down her spine. “Yes, I do. She’s your mother.”
“I know.” Sixteen days hadn’t been enough for him to work through his conflicted feelings about her, Kyrja knew.
He sighed. “But she’s right. This is the most reasonable solution, and one she volunteered for freely.
And as long as we can negotiate visits.” He shrugged.
“Twenty years will be a drop in the bucket of our lifetimes, right? Daemon is already a hundred seventy years old. Logi not that far behind him.”
“Fine logic for them, but for us? Twenty years is the majority of our lifetimes to date. So much will change for us all in two decades. Giver willing, she will scarcely recognize Fjordlandi when she returns.” That was part of what she wanted to renegotiate—that after the term ended, Elianne could return here if she chose.
Kyrja knew very well why her father hadn’t wanted that, that he was trying to offload her forever.
But she had no such desire with Elianne.
“And this isn’t the way thanes treat marriage—for only a term.
I always admired that, and here I am contracting someone to that very thing? ”
“Again, she knows the terms.” Nik drew back a bit, though he kept his arms around her. “I don’t like it, Kyrja. But I admire her for it. She’s making a sacrifice for all of us.”
One Kyrja admired too—but she didn’t want anyone else to have to sacrifice for Fjordlandi, not like this. It ought to be her.
It couldn’t be her. Not in this case.
“Logade on the move!” one of the scouts called out.
They both turned to face the approach from the harbor. “They’re more than an hour early,” she said. But sure enough, the gold-and red contingent was marching this direction, the figure in the middle clothed in his state colors too, tonight.
How official.
Nik pursed his lips. “Maybe he wanted to leave plenty of time to climb up.”
“Maybe. I guess he could have planned time for slipping and sliding.” The thought of Stefanos windmilling his arms as he fought for purchase on the snowy slopes was enough to lighten her mood, at least momentarily.
“He’ll agree, right? To the new terms?” His finger traced the edge of her gown where it cut across her shoulder blades, though the look on his face made her think he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “She’ll need the volcano. Or a vent or something.”
Ellas’s geology was a bit of a mystery to the rest of the world.
Diplomats were allowed only in their capital city, Elystria, on the coast of the Votios Sea.
The rest of the continent? Might as well have been shrouded in darkness, unless it could be seen from the water.
But Mt. Therios was within sight of the capital, and at least mildly active.
Ambassadors’ reports included tremors, ash plumes, and an occasional effusive eruption that caused little damage but spoke to active lava flows.
Elianne would indeed need that for survival. Much like the Blessed needed snow or ice to heal, the Aflame needed high heat—fire would do in a pinch, according to Daemon, but lava was better. “I can’t think he’d argue. He wants her alive and healthy.” And reproducing.
It still made her squirm to think of it. Elianne had escaped Fodur’s machinations only to volunteer for the exact same arrangement with a stranger who was likely even worse.
But maybe choice made a difference. Kyrja hoped so. Prayed so.
And the logade was not having nearly the amount of trouble on the path that they should be. Perhaps their boots had better tread than she’d assumed.
Nik looked over his shoulder, toward the tunnel. “Should I get the others?”
Kyrja drew her bottom lip between her teeth as she considered. “If you can signal them, that’s fine, but…call me a coward, but I don’t really want to greet him by myself.”
“You are many things, Valkyrja Isidordottir, but a coward isn’t one of them.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze and then let go of her and crouched down, pressing a palm to the ground where he’d already melted the snow.
She could feel the pulse he sent, not through the lava he’d be using, but through the springs.
Would Perla sense it too? The princess didn’t have to be here tonight, of course, but she’d claimed they needed all the eyes on the snake—and ears on his words—that they could get, and Kyrja hadn’t had any desire to argue.
But she of course wouldn’t know to come an hour earlier than planned.
Kyrja herself was only here this early to allow her guards to get into position and give herself time to pace off her nervous energy.
Get through tonight, that was the foremost order of business right now.
Then, tomorrow, she would start paying even closer attention to the Blessed during their talks.
She had less than two weeks remaining to choose her new High Council, or she’d forfeit her right to appoint the replacements.
She’d considered finding a way to eliminate the competition for the High Council seats altogether, but the people might object to that.
Even the thanes enjoyed watching the recordings, according to Nik and his family.
Perhaps it would be enough to have the Aflame, all thanes, on it along with the Blessed.
She had no doubt they could hold their own against the Blessed in the arenas, and it would be quite a show. Fire versus ice.
Laila and Magnus would be her first two appointees, after the Aflame. That was the way she was leaning now, anyway, after their words that morning. Their demonstration. The way she could still feel their magic undergirding hers, letting her focus more on the Ice Prison.
Perhaps, with their help, she’d actually be able to sleep tonight.
“Come on, everyone.” She glanced to the tunnel—still empty. To the skies—no brown-clad woman soaring on the air currents. Down the slope.
Frost it. Neither angle nor snow had slowed the logade a bit. They’d be here in a matter of minutes.
“You’ll be fine.” Nik gave her a warm smile and swept his gaze over her. “Also, wow. I hadn’t even paid attention to the dress, but…”
She grinned through the tingle his words inspired. “My dressmaker outdid herself.” The gown was eye-catching, to be sure. The fact that Nik hadn’t even noticed it at first, so set was he on her? That was as much the cause of the tingles as the compliment.
The vibration of marching feet stole her attention, and a minute later, the hoplites’ bronze helmets appeared. Then the red-caped shoulders. The muted gold uniforms. The soldiers spilled onto the plateau, peeling off into two lines as usual.
And there was Stefanos, in the middle. He looked every inch the king tonight, from the gold of his laurel-leaf crown to the tailored red tunic and black trousers with their gold embroidery and accents.
No coat nor gloves. Perhaps he’d begun to acclimate.
“Good evening,” he called out as he headed toward them, an easy smile on his lips.
“A lovely spot you chose for our gathering. I couldn’t resist coming out early to try for a view of the sunset over the harbor. I hope you don’t mind.”
She had, in fact, parted the clouds to let that sunset shine on them, needing the cheer it provided.