Assembly #4
“After my grandfather’s conquest, he could not simply declare Thorfell his forever. The laws of this kingdom required the estate to be formally transferred into his possession.” Dagfinn holds up the deed. “That transfer was made. My family became its lawful owners.”
He pauses.
The room listens intently.
“But it was not unconditional. The agreement required the Varinsson family to provide for any surviving heirs of the family from whom these lands had been taken. My grandfather believed there were none. My father, however, worried there might be. So, he buried the deed in hopes our family would never have to pay that debt. He broke our family oath to the Walshams.”
Dagfinn paces the stage, a furrow in his brow as he considers his next words carefully.
“Most of you don’t know this, but where my family comes from, being an oath-breaker is an act of the utmost dishonor. It brings shame to the family for generations. It condemns them all to an afterlife of eternal punishment, much like the Christian faith.”
Some people in the crowd cross themselves.
Others exchange uneasy glances.
At the murmurs of confusion and discomfort, Dagfinn shifts language.
“What I mean is this: the sins of my father’s father became my father’s burden. They became mine. And unless I make them right, they will become my children’s as well.”
He looks toward Maryam.
“And I intend to do just that.” Dagfinn holds out a hand to Maryam. “Ms. Maryam Alley, please join me on the stage?”
They hadn’t discussed this part in their scheming. As far as Euphemia and the others knew, Maryam already felt like they had reached a fair consensus.
This isn’t about Maryam, however.
It’s about Thorfell and the leader this town deserves.
Warily, Maryam joins Dagfinn before the assembly. He takes her weathered hands into his own, and though he speaks directly to her, Dagfinn ensures his voice is loud enough for all to hear.
“Maryam Alley—or should I say, Maryam Walsham?”
“You most definitely should not. I’ve lived my whole life with that name, and I don’t intend on changing it now.”
Dagfinn chuckles. “In either case, allow me to set right my ancestor’s offenses by fulfilling the oath they evaded.”
Cautiously, Maryam nods.
“Not only shall my family finance the repairs on your home and cooperage, but I would also like to fulfill the remainder of that obligation. Should your son wish it, the cottage at the edge of the Thorfell estate is his.”
“Lord Dagfinn, we couldn’t possibly—”
Unable to contain her smile, Euphemia rushes to Maryam, taking her hands into her own. “It would be our honor, Maryam. Please. Allow us to do this for you. For your son.”
But the woman is stubborn, perhaps more so with a whole town watching her. “I don’t need your pity or your help. I’ve been surviving just fine without any of this.”
“I know you have,” Dagfinn says. His brow scrunches as he thinks of another approach.
Something wicked glimmers in his blue eyes before he says, “I hope you know this is more for me than anything. I want my family’s name associated with something other than bloodshed for once.
It’s purely selfish. Really, you would be doing me a favor to accept. ”
Maryam eyes him with playful suspicion.
The crowd watches from the edge of their seats.
Finally, she extends her hand. “Fine. But I won’t have my son living in squalor. I trust the cottage will be dusted before his arrival?”
Dagfinn accepts her hand and shakes. “It will be done.”
“And you, Mrs. Varinsson,” Maryam says, and it takes Euphemia a moment to realize she is the missus being referring to. “Don’t forget to come by the cooperage and help me get it cleaned up.”
Euphemia smiles. “Of course. I look forward to it.”
Around them, the assembly has begun to loosen.
People rise from their benches, but they do not hurry toward the doors. They linger in clusters, talking over one another. Some approach Dagfinn and commend his leadership. Others stop Maryam to offer congratulations. A few even approach Euphemia to introduce themselves and welcome her to Thorfell.
“Your husband is a good man,” one of them says to her.
Euphemia smiles until her cheeks ache.
She feels lighter than she has in months.
For once, no one is looking at her as though she is something to fear.
For once, she belongs.
Slowly, the townsfolk begin exiting the assembly hall.
With Dagfinn at her side and Kelda and Maryam chatting behind them, Euphemia feels so unbelievably grateful for this little life she’s carved out for herself.
She’s still smiling as they exit the hall.
Until the feeling is shattered by a sneer through the crowd.
“Go on! Ask the Lady of Thorfell where she learned to wake the dead.”
Euphemia freezes. The townspeople have stopped leaving. They’re gathering around the man shouting.
Percival.
Dagfinn glances down at her.
Percival keeps shouting. “Herbal remedies? To bring back a man who had been all but dead? Ask her where she learned to do that. How she was able to bring Lord Varinsson back from the grave.” A wicked grin splits his face and he looks directly at her.
“Ask her about the nightmare that haunted her town.”