35. Torn Thread
Torn Thread
I ’d finished the soup and bread a while ago.
With little else to do but wait, I took the time to wipe off the grime and change out of my dirty, ruined shift.
I dressed in a comfortable set of winter pants and a long-sleeved tunic, and I was almost finished bringing my disheveled hair into some semblance of order when a heavy knock came at the door.
Turning in my seat at the vanity table, a sudden, overwhelming dread pounded in my veins.
My head spun and the edges of my vision blurred.
The door opened without my answer. Johanna was there, backlit by the torches, her deep brown skin and hair gilded by their light. “The Jarlum request your presence.”
I’d known Johanna for most of my life. But in this moment, her striking, chiseled features were completely inscrutable. No anger, no disgust, not even a hint of uncertainty.
Slowly, I stood and nodded, interlacing my fingers at my waist to stop the shaking.
The Shadow fluttered and a calming warmth rolled off her.
I could tell she was more nervous than she let on, though I couldn’t blame her.
From what she said about my grandmother’s Tribunal, we both already knew how this evening would end.
I reached to the table behind me and collected a leather cord to finish tying off my braid.
It was a gift from Lenn, given many years ago.
He told me his mother made it, and the red and gold beads on either end of the cord had come from her mother’s wedding veil.
I’d never dreamed that the connection to his family would one day link to me.
Wearing it now brought me some small measure of strength.
But there was one more thing I needed. Hesitating only a moment, I picked up the Erling crown and placed it on my brow.
Whatever I’d done, and whatever would happen tonight, right now…
I was still the queen. I would face my fate with the grace and dignity of my house and remind them all exactly who I was.
Slowly, I turned to face the Hersir. “Let’s go then.”
Out in the corridor, Inga, Laine, and Janfrid awaited us with stony faces that rivaled Johanna’s. I looked toward the entry hall and saw two more Hersir with their backs to us. I recognized Oiva’s long, strawberry blonde hair, but couldn’t identify the other.
Six of them in total. Like I was some kind of criminal.
I guessed maybe I was.
Johanna stepped in front of me. The other three gathered at my back, the heavy clink of their armor slicing painfully through my head. A sudden queasiness washed over me as they pressed in all around, and I wished I hadn’t eaten as much after all. Bile burned in my throat, making my eyes water.
Steady now, the Shadow whispered.
Johanna started toward the entry hall, her back straight as a board.
The three behind me moved as well. I was dimly aware I should follow suit, but my legs felt sluggish, struggling to obey my commands except in slow, shuffling movements.
It was as if an iron ball had been chained to my ankles, dragging against every step I tried to take.
Asvoria? The Shadow’s voice floated through a veil of fog, muffled by a damp, freezing closeness that pressed painfully into every corner of my head.
W-what… what’s happen… ing?
My name came again as a muffled call. And then the floor tilted beneath me.
I threw out my hands to catch myself on something— anything —that would keep my face from meeting the floor.
My fingers snagged on the laces of Johanna’s leather pauldron and jerked her back.
She managed to catch me, even though it felt like my body weighed as much as a boulder.
My head spun, the walls of the corridor closing in and torchlight rippling like ocean waves.
“Your Majesty?” Laine placed a tentative hand on my shoulder. I turned my face toward her, the movement too quick for my blurred vision to follow.
I tried to make my mouth and tongue form words—to let her know there was something terribly wrong—but even that small action was strained. Nothing but her name would come out. The Shadow floundered in her corner of my mind. Her presence was weak and distant. No more than the whisper of an echo.
“Something’s wrong,” Laine said, her voice muffled.
“What should we do?” That was Inga, and though I knew she stood right next to me, I barely heard her. My ears and mouth felt like they’d been stuffed with cotton.
“We continue on,” Johanna replied. “Freya Vilke warned me she might try this.”
“Try what?” Janfrid snapped. I began to sway, my knees trembling violently.
“Seeming infirm,” the Hersir captain explained slowly, “to avoid facing the Jarlum.”
I tried to shake my head to refute her claim, but I couldn’t manage more than an uneven waggle. The floor seemed to drag me down. My knees gave out, meeting the stone painfully. Laine knelt next to me and placed her cold hands on my cheeks.
“Johanna, we?—”
“Are to follow orders ,” she cut in sharply. I tried to lift my head to peer into her face. “Help her to her feet.” Johanna’s voice was flat—a soldier, and nothing more.
Hands grabbed beneath my arms, hauling me to my feet between two of the armored women. My legs were lead weights trying to drag me back to my knees. This was more than the fear of what awaited me with the Jarlum. I had no control over my own body, and my awareness was slipping. What was happening?
At the entry hall, Oiva turned at our arrival. When her soft blue eyes landed on me, something like concern sparked there. I wanted to scream—to cry out for someone to help. The hands on my arms kept pulling me forward.
“What’s this?” Oiva asked, joining the group.
“Nerves, most likely,” Johanna grumbled. The hands on my right arm tightened.
“Are you sure?” another voice asked, and I realized the one I hadn’t recognized before was Maaren. “I’ve never seen her like this.” My head lolled as I tried to look at her and maybe convey with my eyes what I couldn’t voice.
As we approached the gilded archway of the throne room, Inga spoke up again, something threatening and dark in her low-pitched voice. “Johanna, you know what’s happened. This isn’t ri?—”
Johanna turned suddenly to face us, her long braids whipping around her head like the tail of a snake.
“We have received orders from Freya Vilke,” she seethed, baring her teeth.
“Under the circumstances, her word is law. If one more of you questions me, I’ll have you flogged and removed from service. Am I understood?”
No one answered. But even through the fog of my thoughts, I sensed their silent grumblings. As we started forward again, something in my heart cracked.
They knew.
They could all tell something was wrong, yet none of them was willing to help me. My throat burned with a silent scream and my eyes watered. Whatever was happening, part of me knew it was no accident.
They spurred me on, pushing and pulling and dragging in equal measure as my useless legs and feet stumbled over the polished floor.
Finally, we made it to the throne room. Thousands of tiny rainbows shot across the archway, weaving together into a glittering veil.
We moved through the diamond-like barrier without resistance.
And as we passed under the arch, a mounting pressure settled in my chest, matching the one in my head.
It felt like being ripped apart from the inside out.
The throne room was largely empty except for the group gathered in front of the dais.
My throne sat unoccupied, the vast depths of the black fireglass reflecting dimly in the torchlight.
A long table had been brought in and set before the steps.
Freya Vilke sat in the middle, Freya Anja and Freyr Ingvar at either side of her.
Their Thanes stood behind them, stone-faced as I was shuffled up to the table.
Vilke’s Thane, Selgun, dropped the mask a bit when he sneered as I was released and my legs gave out beneath me.
My knees hit the polished slate floor and the freezing stone shocked my palms. Foggily, I realized the black runner that normally ran the length of the throne room had been removed.
My reflection stared back at me, swimming and rippling.
When my stomach lurched, I thought I might actually lose my dinner this time.
Vor.
My name floated on a phantom wind, circling and echoing in my mind.
Vor, did they hurt you?
I finally registered that it was Trygg. Was he here somewhere? I hadn’t even felt him connect to the bond. But yes, that was his concern trying to penetrate the fog in my head.
Trygg… It was a monumental effort to even think his name. The connection between us was slippery, like it had lost its purchase. Slowly, I lifted my torso up, shifting my precarious balance to my knees and raising my head.
Through the blurriness of my gaze, I saw him kneeling at the far end of the table, flanked by four Hersir. His hands were bound in iron shackles in front of him, but he appeared unhurt. A small kernel of relief plucked through my chest, though it faded quickly.
The Shadow still fluttered in my mind, scrambling in her panic. But if she spoke, I couldn’t hear her. Whatever was affecting my mental state and my body was cutting us off.
I’d never felt anything like this before. It wasn’t like the times Lenn had used his power as a Seamer to help my emotional state, nor did it feel like Freyr Ingvar’s ability as a Stitcher to create illusions. This was something else… Something out of my, or anyone else’s, control.
Vilke leveled a cold stare, folding her hands on the table. “I hereby call this Tribunal to order,” she said, her voice echoing ominously in the glass dome.