Chapter 26 – Isolde
ISOLDE
Thyra let out an exhale. “I’m glad we’re finally doing this.”
“Me too.” I gestured to the carriage following us. “I hope they like the food.”
Lord Balik had seen to it that the rebels were getting food, but we were supplying the rebels with a different kind of nourishment.
Joy. Sweets, baked goods, savory cheeses, and fresh fruits weighed down the second carriage.
All of it sourced by castle servants and purchased by us from the bakeries and markets closest to Ramshold.
“I’m sure they will. These kinds of treats were hard to come by at Valrun,” Thyra smiled, and the pure happiness there lifted my heart too.
We were both enjoying the few hours of levity after days of stress and intense magical practice.
“I can’t wait to see the younglings’ faces when we pull out the cakes. ”
I grinned and looked out the window. As ever the streets of Myrr were busy with fae simply going about their lives.
Shopping. Eating. A group of faun younglings played a game, and their parents watched them from under an awning.
I noted that many now went without cloaks. Certainly, no one wore furs.
My gaze caught on a young male satyr laughing with a small gang of pixies.
The hooved fae was probably a turn or two younger than me.
He would be one of the fae called to fight for Lord Balik, one of many able-bodied males and females.
My stomach hardened. How many of the families that we passed by would lose someone they loved for my family? For our cause?
For a better realm too, I reminded myself, but in no way could I know that everyone called to fight would agree. I simply had to do my best to deliver a kingdom I could be proud of.
In no time at all, the carriage slowed to a stop and, as we’d requested, the driver tapped on the wall.
We didn’t want our names to be called out in the middle of the city.
In fact, we wanted as little notice as possible, and had gone as far as to borrow the most plain carriages the Balik family owned.
No dark green and gold here, only black.
The door opened and our Valkyrja, two of whom had been riding with the driver and the other duo in the other carriage, appeared. They formed a semi-circle as Thyra and I emerged, our thin woolen cloaks over our heads.
The heat of the early afternoon sun warmed my face. In other kingdoms, they’d still say it was cold, but those of winter blood were not used to such heat.
Thyra nodded to Sigri. “Lead the way.”
I studied the first apartment building. The other two lined the road further down. We’d visited before but not gone in all three. To hear the Balik males and Vale tell it, the rebels had taken up nearly every single family unit inside the housing structures.
“What happened to you?” asked the stocky guard standing at the door to the first building. A wry grin crossed his face as he took in Sigri like he knew her. Likely they’d met the day the majority of the rebels arrived in Myrr.
“Oh you mean this little thing?” Sigri pointed to her black eye, which in truth was anything but little. “Battled a frost giant.”
“Fates, remind me not to piss you off.”
“Too right.” Sigri’s voice took on a slightly flirtatious tone.
I glanced sidelong at Thyra. Did Sigri have a crush on the stocky soldier?
“What’s the visit for?” the other, reedier, guard asked.
Sigri took a step to the side, revealing Thyra and me. “Princesses Thyra and Isolde are here. They’ve come bearing gifts.”
The soldiers began to bend the knee, but Thyra held out a hand to stop them. “We’re trying to keep a low profile. Hence the very small group accompanying us.”
“As you wish, Highnesses.” The stocky one inclined his head. “Do you require assistance?”
“We’ve got it handled.” Thyra approached the building’s door. “Sigri, show me where Ratha is staying.”
In the absence of Thyra, Brynhild, and Bac, the ancient whisperer was the de facto leader of those who stayed here. She would be able to round rebels up quickly.
The dwarf did as commanded, and feeling compelled to say something, I walked up beside her. She arched an eyebrow. “Yes, Princess Isolde?”
“I never asked you if your eye was feeling better—after the battle, I mean.”
Sigri laughed. “Aye, it really is fine. This isn’t the first shiner I’ve gotten. More like the tenth.”
I cringed, which only made her laugh harder.
“I grew up with three brothers, you see. All males who fancied themselves wee warriors. Well, I wanted to be like them, so anytime they fought, I did too. We gave each other many of these.” She gestured to the bruise.
“I see. Are your brothers in the rebellion?” If so, I had not put two and two together.
Her face fell slightly. “Not a one of them is walking this realm any longer. They died in the king’s service.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Fighting orcs or in other battles?”
“Two yes. The third was in the king’s harem. He was beaten for not giving some lord what he wanted.”
My mouth went dry.
“Don’t apologize again. You had nothing to do with it.” Anger blazed in Sigri’s voice. “But now you know that though I love Thyra and have come to respect you greatly as well, most of us aren’t only fighting for your family. We’re fighting injustices of our own.”
“I understand,” I whispered, and we continued on, each lost to our own thoughts, which I suspected were of three dwarven males gone too soon.
We found Ratha in her apartment, knitting a sweater made of bright pink yarn.
“Who is that for?” Thyra asked apprehensively.
“Not you, so don’t worry your little royal head about that. I learned my lesson there long ago.” Ratha set her work down.
“Thank the stars.”
The whisperer laughed dryly. “One of the younglings needed a new one. At least they appreciate my work.”
“Well, we have something else they might need.” Thyra’s grin was so infectious it beat back some of the sorrow I felt for Sigri and her family. “There’s a carriage filled with goodies out there. Can you round everyone up while we begin unloading? Start with the younglings.”
The whisperer cracked a smile. “You didn’t need to do that, you know. We heard about the giants, and the deaths and such. No one was expecting either of you to come running back here to see us.”
“We wanted to,” I said. “Needed to get out of the castle.”
Stars, if that wasn’t the truth. I’d felt better after speaking with King Thordur, but the fact that Lord Balik was still ignoring us remained. It was nice to leave his castle, to breathe fresh air, and help others.
“I’ll get them outside,” Ratha said.
With our Valkyrja in tow we rushed back outside. We’d only just pulled the largest cakes from the carriage when a rush of younglings burst from the apartment buildings.
“We heard you have surprises!” A brownie squealed when she saw the cake. “Can I have that one?!”
Thyra laughed. “You’ll have to share it, or you’ll make yourself ill.”
“I will,” the girl promised and held out her hands. “Promise.”
The cake was so large I had doubts that the dainty brownie could carry it, but she managed. One by one the younglings lined up for a treat, and they were soon joined by rebels of all ages.
Person by person, cake by tart by wheel of cheese given, my mood lifted.
Scents of chocolate, vanilla, cinnamon, and other spices filled the air, and I became so engrossed in chatting with a new mother who had nearly died from happiness when she got an apple pie, that I didn’t notice others had joined.
“We want some,” said a male with the distinct accent of the southlands.
I turned to find a group of thirty fae, none of whom I recognized.
“These are for us, not your lot,” shouted a male rebel with a bulbous nose. “So stop being nosy and sticking yourself where you don’t belong!”
“You’re in our city now,” the faerie leader of the group spoke testily. “And our lord is letting you stay. For free, I think. The least you can do is give us a little cake.”
“How dare you demand that of our princesses,” the new mother growled.
The faerie looked at our Valkyrja and then me and Thyra. It was clear that he hadn’t known who we were, and why would he? My twin and I had mostly stayed at the castle, and we’d made it a point to underdress so as not to draw attention.
“Apologies, Princesses.” The leader placed a hand to his heart. “I didn’t know it was you. I—”
“You bow to them.” The large nosed rebel’s face had taken on a violent shade of red “That’s what you do or are you so uncultured that you don’t—” the rebel gasped, and his hand flew to his throat.
“Choke him out!” one of the Myrranese shouted so aggressively he showered those standing in front of him with spittle. “Teach the scum a lesson!”
Fates, this was not happening, I thought as a rebel leapt from the crowd, threw a punch at a local, and violence exploded in the street.