Chapter 42
Sunnavík, íseldur
Jonas followed the queen’s guardsman through the torchlit corridors of Askaborg, while wondering if the finely wrought sconces were made from gold or only forged to look like it.
Each night for the past week, Jonas had found the queen’s man waiting for him after the evening meal, always with a summons from Queen Signe.
After relaying all he knew of Eisa Volsik to the queen, Jonas had expected her to lose interest in him.
But still, the requests came. Perhaps the queen had found an unexpected ally in him—someone to share in her anger and hatred.
Sometimes she spoke of her daughter Yrsa, slain by Saga Volsik, and sometimes she asked Jonas about Ilías.
Jonas was surprised to realize that at some point during the week, he’d stopped assessing the guards at each exit of the garrison hall.
His longings to escape this place had lessened substantially.
It certainly wasn’t due to any improvement in the warband.
Volund was still a brute, his morals nonexistent.
The war chieftain believed that by culling the weakest from his crew, his warband grew stronger.
But the way Jonas saw it, to lead by fear was no way for a headman to build trust among his warriors.
The draugur were hauled into the pits each day by their iron collars, spitting and snarling like wild beasts. But the moment an acolyte carved a strange-looking rune into their foreheads, their demeanors grew instantaneously placid—at least until the acolyte gave the order to attack.
Now the Corpse Bringers warband was expected to square off with the vile draugur. Jonas had to wonder where these corpses had come from. They seemed too fresh to have come from the grave. But he’d learned that in this band, it was best not to ask too many questions.
With each passing day, Jonas became more certain that this warband had nothing to do with keeping peace in the realm. Murmurs abounded of a place called Rokksgarde, where the next phase of their training would begin. Yet the lack of firm details raised Jonas’s hackles.
Logically, he knew he should probably resume his attempts to flee this place, yet the queen and her continual summons held his curiosity. Where was this “friendship” going, and what would happen should Jonas see it through?
Tonight, as he entered the queen’s private drawing room, he immediately realized something was different.
“Jonas,” said Signe, lounging in her preferred chair near the hearth.
“Your Highness.” Jonas bowed low, but as he straightened, he blinked at the queen. “You’re not in mourning.”
She was clad in a gown of pure white, with an ivory mantle clasped at her delicate throat. Candlelight caught on the glacial pearls hanging from her ears, and the steel crown upon her brow. Her lips lifted with the hint of a sad smile.
“Today,” sighed the queen, “I forgo my mourning attire to celebrate my sister’s birthday.”
“I did not know you have a sister,” said Jonas, hesitantly approaching.
“How could you?” laughed the queen, and he thought he caught the hint of a slur in her words.
“She’s long dead.” Signe gestured for Jonas to take the seat across from her, and he did so carefully.
“Today, my darling Eylín would have seen thirty-six winters. Let us raise a cup—” She paused, realizing Jonas had no cup, then waved at a servant.
A cupbearer appeared and filled a goblet for Jonas before vanishing like a whisper.
“Let us raise a cup,” Signe repeated, lifting her jeweled goblet. Reluctantly, Jonas did the same. “To Eylín,” said the queen, “the best of us all. The most selfless. The most beautiful.”
There was a sarcastic edge to the queen’s voice that gave Jonas pause, but he quickly murmured in agreement, then sipped from his goblet. The queen’s blue eyes had a glazed look to them, and he wondered how long she’d been drinking by the fire.
“Did you know,” said Signe, “Eylín was meant to marry Ivar?”
“Oh?”
“ ’Tis true. She was to marry Ivar, and I was to be slaughtered with the rest of my siblings.
The Urkans only need one daughter, you see.
” The queen’s brows pulled together as she stared into her goblet.
“A shame she had a terrible fall from the castle tower. It was an awful thing, to see her limbs splayed out at such angles.”
Jonas swallowed thickly and let the queen continue.
“Eylín died on what was to be her wedding day. And then it became my wedding day.”
“Did she—” Jonas shut his mouth before he could voice the question.
“Did she jump?” Signe drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I suppose if she had, she’d have been cleverer than me. Sometimes I think marriage to Ivar is a punishment worse than death.”
Jonas’s skin prickled as he waited for her to continue. But the queen eyed him, clearly weighing a decision.
“I can trust you, can’t I, Jonas? Yes.” She nodded to herself. “I can trust you. You’ve shared so much with me.”
The words seemed meant to convince herself, rather than him, and Jonas sat uneasily quiet.
The queen took a long drink from her goblet, tongue darting out to catch a drop of wine from the corner of her lips.
Signe set the cup aside and leaned toward Jonas.
“Eylín didn’t jump,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I pushed her.”
The queen’s drunken confession rocked Jonas to his core. Why was she telling him this? In some cases, it was a benefit to know secrets about one’s ally. But this was the gods damned queen, and she could have him killed with a snap of her fingers. And she had just revealed herself to be a killer.
Signe was gazing at her hands, as though mystified that they might have done it. But something sharpened in her expression. “I suppose I should not have told you that.”
“Your secret is safe with me, Your Highness,” said Jonas, his heartbeat kicking up a notch.
The queen’s nails tapped against the carved arms of her chair as she stared at him. There was a warning in her gaze, a silent knife to his throat. His heart pounded harder, faster. He needed to say something to put her at ease…
“I understand,” said Jonas, his voice slightly hoarse. “I, too, know what it is to have the blood of my kin on my hands.”
And before he knew what was happening, Jonas spilled the details about his abusive father.
Of how he’d killed him in retribution for the murder of his mother.
But by the time the last words fell from him, the queen’s posture had eased, and Jonas knew he’d done the right thing in telling her.
She’d shared something deeply personal, and with it came a sense of instability.
His confession was simply rebalancing the scales. Placing them back on even ground.
Signe shook her head slowly. “You understand,” she said softly, something flickering behind her eyes. “In this world, it is kill or be killed.” Her gaze locked onto his, as though fortifying this new bond.
Jonas nodded, though something in her words didn’t sit entirely right. It was one thing to deliver death to an evil man, and altogether another to push an innocent woman from a tower. But there was no force in this kingdom that would convince Jonas to voice such thoughts.
“Should I have simply rolled over and let the Urkans slaughter me?” The queen laughed, though it sounded far from amused. “Still, it was a…regretful thing to have to do.”
“I understand,” Jonas repeated numbly. “I will mourn my brother until my last breath. But it is my father who haunts my dreams. Whose words slither into my mind.”
The queen pushed to her feet. Sauntered over to him. Lifted Jonas’s goblet and pressed it to his lips. Gripping the arms of his chair in surprise, Jonas obligingly sipped.
“You understand,” whispered the queen, setting the goblet down. Her face was now an inch from his, and she slid a finger across his lips, capturing a droplet of wine. “How is it that you always understand?” Jonas hardly dared breathe as the queen stared at him, perplexed.
And then she pressed her lips to his.
She tasted like wine and honey, and her lips were soft as silk. For an instant, Jonas forgot just who she was, losing himself in this moment of vulnerability. They’d shared their burdens with each other, and with that came a sense of weightlessness.
But shock jolted through Jonas as he recalled just who he kissed. Queen Signe was married to a violent man—a king, no less.
“Wait,” he said, drawing back. The queen’s gaze grew thunderous as she stared back at him. “The wine,” he said quickly. “You’re intoxicated. I cannot take liberties—”
“I can handle my wine far better than most.” Signe ran a hand up his biceps, and indeed, her words were clear.
Despite all the logical reasons he ought to end this, Jonas was a hot-blooded man with a pair of eyes. It was impossible not to note the queen’s beauty. And if she wanted comfort in his arms, who was he to deny her?
Jonas swept the queen onto his lap. And then he kissed her in earnest.
Hours later, Jonas lay in the queen’s bed, staring dazedly at the ivory canopy above.
It had to be made of silk, imported from some isle to the south, and it was delicately sculpted into the shape of a flower.
He stared, dumbstruck, at this elaborate canopy, pondering how he’d climbed from the dungeons to the queen’s bed in a few short weeks.
But then Jonas decided some things were better not examined too closely.
The queen lay curled against his side, her breathing soft and rhythmic. But as a draft whispered through the room, Jonas carefully extracted himself from her slumbering form to set another log in the fireplace.
“Leaving so soon?” asked the queen, a sour note in her sleepy voice.
Jonas paused, then looked over his shoulder, satisfied to find her gaze homed in on his backside. “Only livening the fire, my queen,” he said softly. “Does that please you?”