CHAPTER 3 #2
Images of thatched roofs in flames and a sea dotted with enemy sails flooded my mind—scenes from storybooks I’d read since childhood. “What would a maid know of forced marriage anyway?” I gritted out.
Gerta’s eyes sharpened. “Nothing, of course.” She bowed and stepped away, leaving me to sit with my words.
The trouble was, not even Gerta, who would be my only companion for a full month, could know the truth of my purpose in Rihtlond.
I would have to fool even her of my sincerity.
Knowing the truth would put her at risk, were anyone to grow suspicious.
But she would be complicit, nonetheless.
Father had given me four weeks to fill an entire journal with secrets, then send it home with Gerta.
Four weeks. As if I could discover all that was needed in so short a time.
I’d have to offer her my second-warmest gloves for the journey, and maybe my second-best chape as well, to make amends.
Creator knew I should give her my best things for what she was about to endure on my behalf, but that would be questioned.
Why would a servant be better adorned than her mistress?
My heart squeezed, and my head chose that moment to remind me that Bale would have understood me.
But Bale was gone. Sitting with the news for a few days had not lessened its sharpness.
Tam was gone as well, back to Fethersen with his family.
Before he left, he had promised to stay faithful to me, no matter how long it took.
Then, he kissed me in front of both our families and whispered in my ear, “I’ll come for you when the time is right.
” It made me feel a twisting sort of hollow inside.
The door to my room burst open, interrupting my thoughts.
“Oh, Serae, how can this day have come!” Merria flopped onto my bed, gold and red skirts flying, and flung her arms around me. “First Bale gone, and now you. I’ll be all alone.”
I tried my best not to grimace. “It would have always been this way, no matter who I married.” Except now, I might be headed toward my death.
Merria harrumphed. “You’ll have to write me every week at least. How will I ever get along without you? Will we be invited to your wedding?”
I froze, scanning Merria’s face, but she was all doe eyes and practiced pout. Was this one of her performances? If all went to plan, as Merria well knew, there would be no wedding.
“Ask Father,” I said at last, aware of Gerta’s keen ears. “Maybe he’ll actually tell you since you’re his favorite.”
“Don’t be bitter. Plus, his favorite was Bale. I’m only second because I’m the next oldest.”
“Yes, and the rest of us are just backups.”
“He’s married you off well, hasn’t he? I don’t know why you’re complaining.”
“It’s Rihtlond, Merria! Rihtlond.” I couldn’t voice more with Gerta nearby, but I glared my meaning just the same.
“Do you think they’ll be as vicious as the stories?”
Gerta tutted, but Merria ignored her, as she did with all our household staff.
“I suppose they won’t be raping the women or slaughtering the children in their own streets,” she mused, as if the idea were a pleasant fancy, and not the very real horrors I would soon be facing.
“I wonder if you’ll have to live in huts and tents, or worse, a home at sea.
What if you’re never on dry land again?”
“They have cities,” Gerta interjected. “We’re not headed to a life of endless seafaring, milady. Don’t you fret.”
Merria snorted. “Maybe not, but that doesn’t change the fact that their men like to destroy. Martyrs, are you worried your prince is going to try to destroy you?”
“Get out!” I shrieked. “If you’re not here to help, then leave.”
Merria’s face softened to some measure of understanding. She sat back and arranged her curls. “It’s going to be all right. I don’t know all Father’s reasons, but I’m sure he’s got them. You’ll be back before you know it.”
Even if this was meant to be a temporary leave, everywhere I looked, I found reason to lament.
I would miss reading in the gardens and the beautiful view from my bedroom window that overlooked them.
I would even miss the way Merria flipped her honey-gold hair like a true-born queen.
The way Father scowled and Mother dismissed me.
Most of all, I would miss the way Bale grounded me, offering a secret smile or a wink when no one else was looking.
But he was gone, and those times would never return.
If only this day had not come so soon—but that was a useless thought.
My days in this house, as a daughter and not a son, were always numbered.
THE SUN, ever spiteful, continued its march across the sky. As it reached its zenith and began to fall, panic set in. I paced the length of the family parlor until my mother bade me sit. No fires were lit on the warm summer day, so I stared at the empty grate.
Mother donned her role as margravine and kept by my side, praising me for my dedication to the family and the kingdom.
Father came next with repeated encouragements and hushed reminders.
Four weeks rang through my head as he handed me a small brown journal.
Between the two, it was more attention than I had ever received in my life.
Only Merria remained the same, tossing me simpering eyes and a constant litany of nonsense advice.
You must always stand tall, but don’t tower over your betrothed.
If you can make yourself appear smaller without slouching, you must. Bale was—
No, there was no point dwelling on him. I had spent a whole day wondering if people missing in action and presumed dead were ever found.
Wondering if he would ever again be here to temper the family for me, to see me off with a grin and a kiss to the temple, or to simply remind me that I had value when no one else would.
The announcement came before anyone was expecting it.
Even my mother flinched before rising to lead us to the manor steps.
The gates were opened, and a retinue of Rihtlonders filled the courtyard.
A striking man in a bold green cloak and a sharply trimmed blond goatee stepped forward and bowed.
My father strode straight to him to clasp hands.
He leaned in and spoke a few soft words, then stepped back and announced in Mayoran, the common tongue, “I present to you with pride and honor, the great High Dane of Rihtlond, Auldren son of éalren, conqueror of Chancey, reclaimer of the rightful lands of the Riht, ruler of strength and passion, and now, bringer of peace and unity between our two peoples.”
At the final word, every Rihtlonder placed a fist to their chest and bowed.
To my surprise, so did Father. With brows raised, I turned to my right, Merria’s usual place as the eldest daughter, but she was missing.
I whipped around in confusion and had to tamp down my shock as I realized she was now standing on my left.
She was slightly hunched and had changed into a high-necked dress.
Her ringlet curls were gone, replaced by a thick braid tied with a large white bow.
Mother shot me a sharp glance, then led us in a graceful curtsey. She wore her best bliaut with her honey-blond hair—the exact shade Merria had inherited—pinned back in intricate curls. She donned her jeweled cercle, emphasizing her station. I lowered my head as I dipped into a curtsey.
“Dane Auldren, it is a pleasure to welcome you to our home,” my father said in the common tongue, rising to his full height. “Won’t you join me inside for a drink while we settle the final details?”
The dane approached. Though my father stood two steps above him, they were eye to eye.
He held my father’s gaze for a long moment.
I locked my shaking knees and clenched my quivering jaw.
I was no meek peasant who had never stood in front of a crowd.
Why was I all jittery now? Annoyed, I clapped my eyes to the dane’s retinue of men.
I gasped. They’re women?
Looking again, about half of the stern warriors were indeed female.
They exuded lethality from the set of their jaws, the bulge of their muscles, and the sharpness of their blades.
The men and women alike donned long braids, shaved heads, or a mix thereof.
I turned to my parents, a question on my lips.
“Margrave,” boomed the voice of the giant of a man before us, breaking me from my thoughts, “I will take a drink with you. My messenger and two warriors will join, as will your daughter and future daughter of mine.”
“Very good,” Father agreed, nodding to my mother. He led the way to the first library, which we sometimes used to receive formal company.
Before I could enter, Mother grabbed my arm and whispered, “Go with and say nothing. At all. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“You are the eldest now,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
She shoved me into the library behind the men, and I moved to stand beside Father’s chair.
Its high back was carved to resemble the folded wings of the Creator.
Shelves lined the walls, boasting scrolls and tomes of every shape and size.
Father kept this room in perfect order, knowing the wealth and intimidation it projected.
I folded my hands in front of me and stared straight ahead.
I would probably hold more purpose as a statue.
The steward brought both coffee and whiskey, then he retreated to a corner of the room.
Father spared me not a glance, so I remained still, neither sitting nor offering to pour.
The Rihtlonder dane, however, watched me closely.
“Do you think you’ll be a strong wife for my son?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to speak, but Father interjected.
“She’ll be a perfect wife. She’s well-educated, skilled in the arts, and very even-tempered. My darling girl is my pride and joy, and a model to her younger sister.”