Land of Fury, page 31
Siggy looks at Father Acasta and Sister Josephine, both sitting to our left in their gray woolen robes. While he is a man of many years, she is young—perhaps only in her twenties, but both of them look at us, wholly distrusting.
“As formal as this seems,” Siggy continues, “it is simply a conversation my sister and I have been longing to have with you all. And being in the same room, we hoped we might come to an agreement.”
I glance at Zander and Reider sitting to our right, both already aware that Siggy and I wanted them present to discuss Norseland’s future, but we haven’t told them the extent of it.
Reider and Killian, warriors from different worlds but equally intent on mending the rift in this kingdom, are the first to sip their wine. They exchange amused glances as they take a few glugs, as if they are preparing themselves for what the sister queens have to say next.
I smile inwardly, glad to see that the horseman and the Reaper have formed a camaraderie among their men, one that will be paramount in the days to come.
I meet my sister’s gaze and nod, acknowledging that we’re ready, then straighten in my seat. Nerves have been my constant companion lately, yet today, I tremble with excited anticipation instead.
I look at Father Acosta and Sister Josephine, who are no doubt apprehensive to be summoned to Winterwood Keep after all of Norseland learned what became of the abbess and her Blood Rider crusade. As well as what will happen to those who would act independently from the crown now and in the future.
“You are here, Father Acosta,” I say, then nod to his companion, “Sister Josephine, because of all we have discovered in the past months. Your monastery and church in Frankland have never accepted a single coin from Queen Sigrid, nor Abbess Blanca.” I glance between them. “Is that true?”
They both nod, if a bit hesitantly. “Yes,” they say in unison. “Your Majesties.” Father Acosta looks from me to Siggy, uncertain how to address us.
“We wish to know why,” I explain. “We have been told you have very meager crop yields because of what happened in the foothills in the east. That an avalanche took out your nearest trading post nearly two years ago, and you’ve been barely getting by since. And still, displaced people find you, and you offer them shelter and food.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, as much as we can,” Father Acosta admits.
“So, you feed them,” Siggy clarifies. “You shelter them and tend to their wounds?”
The clerics nod in unison.
“Where do these people go after that?” I ask.
“We have built some lodgings,” Father Acosta says offhandedly, waving their efforts away. “They are meager, but it is shelter, which is more than they have when they come to us. Many of them stay to help with farming and building—if possible, of course. Not all of them are able-bodied.”
“How many people are in Frankland now?” I flatten my hands on the table, speaking softer as I realize I might sound too much like my mother.
The clerics look at each other as if they are trying to work out the numbers in a silent exchange. “Two-hundred-fifty since the avalanche?” Sister Josephine guesses, lifting her shoulder.
Father Acosta dips his chin in agreement.
“There was a terrible avalanche earlier this year,” she explains.
“We were there,” I admit. “It was terrifying—we were so pleased to hear there were survivors.” I glance at Zander. We requested Father Acosta and Sister Josephine at his horsemen’s recommendation, knowing Frankland doesn’t trust us—they have no reason to. But as the seconds tick on, I’m convinced we can trust them. “With so many mouths you have to feed,” I continue, “surely you could use the support of the crown. And yet, you have never sought it out.”
“We are a humble parish, Your Majesty,” Father Acosta says, taking a sip of his wine. His hand trembles slightly, though I’m not sure if it’s from old age or nerves. “We always have been.”
“That is your reason?” my sister questions them. “Your only reason?” She waves for them to continue. “Please, speak freely. We simply wish to understand why you have never sought help though you greatly need it.”
Father Acosta clasps his hands in front of him, drawing in a deep breath before he looks at us. He purses his lips. “It is not in the Lord’s teachings that in order to help someone you must require something in return,” he says simply. “We knew any help from the crown, from Queen Sigrid and Abbess Blanca, would result in a debt owed, and that is something we could not condone. Respectfully, of course, Your Majesty.” He bows his head at each of us.
“Perfect.” I grin. “Then Dane and Elof were right to recommend you to be a part of our council.”
“Council?” Killian’s brow furrows along with everyone else's, and I motion Siggy to continue.
“As you know, my sister and I now rule Norseland jointly,” she announces. “And since doing so, one of our many changes is to establish an Assembly of Eight.”
I feel Zander’s stare on me, but I refuse to look at him, uncertain I could resist a smirk. “We will act as sovereigns of the kingdom,” I explain. “But we will rely on the assembly to weigh in on matters we may not be privy to. Killian Blackburn.” I look directly at him. “You represent a world far different from ours, as well as allies we hope to forge in New London.” I glance at Brynn. “As one of our assembly, you will represent the free people, those traveling to or settling in the Isles of the Lost Winds, which, for me, put so much of this into motion. My sister and I hope an alliance between us will help to ease the fear our people might have of the lingering Reaper rumors, and the financial and logistical burden you face as your endeavors expand.”
I glance at our wide-eyed, robe wearing friends. They are clearly uneasy, as expected, but I press on. “You, Sister Josephine and Father Acosta—you will represent the true Christian faith that my ancestors welcomed into the fold long before the Great Turning. Not the poison that has darkened this land for decades, but what it once was and what it will be again.” Father Acosta’s brown eyes glimmer with an emotion he dares not show.
“We know you do not trust us yet,” I continue, “nor do we expect you to. But you have our word. There will be nothing required of you in return. There will be no swaying you or hidden agendas, and everyone in the council will ensure that remains true. We simply would like your faith’s representation at our table, since so many in this kingdom are true Christians. And of course,” I continue, “we will draw up an accord stating as much, as long as the entire council agrees upon it.”
Acosta and Josephine seem relatively at ease with the idea, and I look at my sister to continue.
“Reider,” she says reverently. With her shoulders back, her hair woven around her simple iron crown, she looks every bit the queen she is. “You have been Zander’s confidant in all that has transpired over the years, guiding all of us in what has led to this day, to all of us sitting at this table. You are not only one of our most trusted warriors, but your family comes from a long line of pagan ancestors who have suffered at the queens’ hands. We would be honored if you would represent pagan interests in this new beginning for Norseland.”
Reider looks at Zander, who is equally surprised.
A barely-there smile plays at the edges of Zander’s lips, and if I am not mistaken, there is honor and pride gleaming in his eyes as he stares at his best friend.
“Huntsman,” I say, arching an eyebrow in his direction.
Zander’s eyes snap to me. It feels as if the oxygen escapes the room, and my cheeks warm. “You are a revolutionary,” I say carefully. Respectfully. “You are a warrior and the protector of this realm—whatever you might say about it. Your gods have seen to it.”
Zander’s throat bobs slowly as he swallows, but he doesn’t take his eyes from mine.
“The heart of this kingdom trusts only you and your horsemen. As do my sister and I. We wish for you to join this assembly on behalf of all whose interests you represent.” I hold his gaze as my words sink in.
Until now, it never occurred to me he might say no, but it’s a single word, so easily spoken, and I clear my throat. “Do you accept?”
Zander glances at Brynn, who is smirking from across the table. When he meets my gaze again, Zander bows his head. “You know I do, Your Majesty.”
I try not to smile too broadly at that, exhaling my relief.
“And the rest of you?” Siggy asks, drawing our attention back to the others. “We are not ignorant enough to think we can rule an entire kingdom the size of Norseland on our own. If changes are to be made, you must be our eyes and ears. There must be equal representation at this table if Norseland is to become what it was always supposed to be—a kingdom of tolerance. So,” she says, drawing out the word, “we ask again. Will you join our assembly?”
Father Acosta and Sister Josephine glance at one another. They are wary still, but I can feel their hope as if it’s my own, and I see it in their eyes.
“Aye, Your Majesty,” Father Acosta finally says, looking at my sister. “We are honored to represent the true Christian faith.”
Sister Josephine takes a gulp of her wine as if she’s in sudden, urgent need of it.
“You have my sword and my fealty in all things, Your Majesties,” Reider says, but his eyes linger on my sister, if only fleetingly.
I don’t miss the way pink colors Siggy’s ears before we both shift our attention to Killian and Brynn.
“What exactly would you have us do, Queens of Norseland?” Killian starts with an air of amusement. “We are not northerners or members of your court, nor do I think you are asking us to be. Still, the question remains—how is this going to work when we are only here once or twice throughout the year? And it doesn’t bother you,” Killian clarifies, “that we would take your subjects from this kingdom?”
I lean back in my chair, considering Killian’s words. “You mistake us for our mother,” I explain, glancing around the table. “We will not force people to stay here. It would defeat the entire purpose of righting our family’s wrongs over the past three centuries. Our ancestors survived the Great Turning, and if there is a world far larger out there than Norseland, I would not keep anyone from it.”
Killian taps his finger on the tabletop, thoughtful for a moment.
“What we do ask,” I continue, “is that when you make your annual trips to our kingdom, you do so intending to stay in the north for a time—to apprise us of your efforts and what you have learned about the world. There are details to be worked out, to be sure, but if you will not join the assembly, then there is no reason to contemplate that now.”
Killian glances at Zander and Reider. “Our relationship with Queen Sigrid was not an unfettered one,” he says to them, tied in all ways to my mother’s reign. “While that sounds promising, I have to admit, it is not so easy to ignore the past.” Killian steeples his fingers, and I wait for him to say what really churns behind those stormy blue eyes that shift between Zander and me. “That being said, after seeing what you did in Windwich and other communities like it, I can say that I understand you better. And I can more easily take you at your word.”
“Well, I have no drawn-out explanation,” Brynn says forcefully. “I accept.” She smiles, almost giddy at the possibilities.
I grin. “You do not wish to speak with your partner—”
Killian laughs. “I only appear to have a say,” he jests.
Brynn nudges his shoulder and addresses the table again. “But I, too, have one condition. With your blessing, I would like our enterprise to expand quickly, and to do so, we will need to discuss what that looks like for your citizens and our ships moving forward.”
“Of course,” Siggy and I say in unison.
“I have dreamed of something like this,” Brynn confesses. “Even if we are not here as often as the rest of you, we wish to be a part of it. I want to be a part of it.” She looks at Zander, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “For Estrid,” she says more softly. “And for Mother and Father.”
Zander nods as he takes a shallow breath.
“Then, dare I say we are the Assembly of Eight?” Siggy breathes, as if she can barely believe it. We look at each other and smile. “We hoped you would all say yes.”
“Let us show them,” I whisper, and Siggy’s eyes brighten.
“There’s more?” Killian mutters, and he pours himself another glass of wine. “Does it require something harder to drink?” The others laugh as Siggy and I stand. Brigida hurries over with three palm-sized items stacked on top of one another, each wrapped in a cloth.
“I have heard the Blackburns have fine whiskey in New London,” I say, glancing at Killian as my sister and I each unwrap a metal medallion. “I hoped you might have brought some with you to drink in celebration.”
“It just so happens, I did, Your Majesty,” he says with a chuckle.
“Excellent. Because new beginnings call for new traditions and new symbology,” I explain. “So, we have commissioned a new sigil.” Siggy and I display our matching pieces, trying and failing not to gape with awe as we set eyes on the sigil for the first time since contracting the renderings. I hand one to Zander and Reider, who look at me with confusion.
Siggy hands one to Father Acosta and Sister Josephine, who gasp almost immediately. And I hand the last one to Killian and Brynn.
“We are no longer the cross and stag. That was old Norseland,” I explain, and Siggy and I exchange a look of pride. “This is a new Norseland, and so our sigil must represent all for which we stand. The runes of new beginnings and partnerships. The antlers of House Storrada. And the Christian cross—the backbone of Norseland’s past, present, and future. Let this become a symbol of hope, not fear.”
“It’s beautiful,” Brynn says first, and Killian nods, studying the craftsmanship.
“I can’t help my bias,” he says, grinning as he runs his finger over Berkano, the rune of new beginnings. The name of his freedom ship.
“It is perfect,” Reider whispers, and Father Acosta and Sister Josephine turn the iron piece over in their palms, close their eyes, and offer a silent prayer.
Sitting down, I meet Zander’s gaze. It’s full of pride—more pride than I ever saw reflected at me from my mother. And as I realize none of this would be possible without him, I find even I am at a loss for words, struck with a sudden, heart-aching gratitude for these people.
“If you will excuse us, Your Majesties,” Sister Josephine says, and she and Father Acosta both stand. “We would like to take this news back to Frankland,” she explains. “To speak with our brothers and sisters about what’s transpired here today, and ensure we have the full support of the church in this endeavor.”
“Of course,” Siggy says. “If that is your wish.”
Sister Josephine bows graciously and is about to follow Father Acosta to the door, when she pauses. “God truly does work in mysterious ways,” she says. It sounds more like a realization than a statement, and with a hopeful gleam in her eyes, she and Father Acosta exit the Great Hall, Brigida stepping out of their way as they pass.
“Ah!” Killian says as Tug, one of his companions, enters behind Brigida. “There it is.” Tug nods at everyone and offers Killian two glass bottles.
“Two?” Brynn grumbles. “I should have known.”
“I wasn’t sure what this gathering was about, but I would not come all the way to the north empty-handed. Especially now that I know your brother is the one who wields the Truth Seekers, little Skadi. And since I will marry you one day, I mean to ply him with whiskey.”
Brynn’s eyes widen, her lips part with a small gasp, and the entire room laughs as even Zander’s cheeks burn crimson.
Brigida finishes setting out another glass for each of us, and Tug pours everyone a taste of Killian’s whiskey. Brynn gives the young man a wink before Tug smiles and steps away from the table.
“Careful,” Killian warns as he holds up his glass to everyone. “It’s been known to put hair on a man’s chest.” In a bout of laughter, we all salute the future, and I glance around the room at six smiling, hopeful faces.
Like a moth to flame, I feel Zander’s gaze on me, and when I look at him, he’s smiling. It’s heart stopping and genuine and holds every promise and hope for the future. Whatever comes next, life will be better for it. We will be happy. And I never thought it possible, but I feel like the luckiest queen in all of Norseland.
EPILOGUE
THORA
ONE YEAR LATER
SOMEWHERE IN THE NORTH SEA
The cabin rocks to and fro with the ship, the candle flames flickering as my insides roll, just a little.
When Siggy and I agreed she would stay in Norseland to oversee the erection of the community hall in Winterwood, while I visited the island colonies, I knew it would be a long, uncomfortable journey. Until lately, I’ve never been on a ship or out at sea—I’ve barely seen the ocean in my twenty-three years, for that matter. So sailing it has proven an entirely new, stomach-churning feat.
Norseland’s arctic climate is far easier to endure than the brine that clings to everything out here. The salt I can always taste on my lips and the scent of damp wood in every corridor and cabin.
“You have lived through a tyrant queen and Abbess Blanca,” I remind myself. “Sea sickness is nothing in comparison.” But despite the number of times I tell myself such things, every lurch reminds me the sea is far more terrifying. It swells and undulates around us—majestic and awe-inspiring, undoubtedly, but terrifying nonetheless. I understand why Killian has taken such great care over the months, enlisting only one other captain to bring into the fold. Commanding the North Sea is no easy task, and there is no guarantee the next storm won’t be your last.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the cool air into my lungs in an effort to steady my roiling insides. When Gunhild, Zander, and I first joined the rest of the crew aboard the Berkano, my seasickness was nearly enough for me to withdraw from the expedition. But as the journey continues, the urge to retch has lessened, and the dull but incessant nausea has become bearable.
