Throughout my bath, throughout the two silent women assisting me to strap on my underwear, pull the soft, woolen gown over my head, my boots up my calves and doing my hair, throughout my solitary meal and after, as I was alone in the luxuriously appointed but chilly rooms, I tortured myself.
I tortured myself with memories of the first time I saw my huge, frightening husband at our wedding.
And the first time he kissed me.
I tortured myself with memories of him throwing a dead dear on the kitchen table, pulling me in his lap and telling me I fit there and bathing with him in a hot spring.
And the first time we made out in bed together and how gentle he was with me.
I was wrong in my anger. He had been my gentle Frey before he knew me.
I tortured myself with that too, that I had forgotten and all I said to him prior to his death.
Then, when I could bear those particular thoughts no longer, I tortured myself with memories of playing cards with Frey’s men. Of Father’s proud cry the first time he saw me get a bulls-eye and his tight hug the second time he saw me do it. Of Skylar sitting at a desk, any desk, all of the desks he sat at, his tongue poking out in his concentration, looking so cute and boyish. Of my girls’ giggles and gossip and gentle care and how they took me in without reservation. Of Mother’s dry wit and small smiles and eyes that told you how she felt about you in a way you would always believe and never forget.
I tortured myself with memories of a ship called The Finnie and all that had happened aboard her.
I tortured myself with memories of strong hands guiding me on a dance floor while I wore a blood red dress at a ball.
I tortured myself with memories of touches, tastes and words whispered in my ear.
I tortured myself with every memory I could pull up of the best by far, the most beautiful by a landslide, the most perfect adventure I’d ever had and I turned each in my head, I burned them in my brain and as I did it, as the seconds slid to minutes, minutes to hours and the guard remained outside and I remained alone in the prince’s room, I prepared.
So when the door opened, I was ready.
I was ready to do what I had to do for Frey, for Atticus, for Aurora and for Lunwyn which was rightfully mine to give to the child I carried. Frey’s child. The Drakkar’s child. The elves’ child. My child.
Lunwyn’s child.
And by my God and my husband’s gods, I was fucking going to do it.
So, prepared, I watched Broderick walk in and I schooled my face not to show a reaction when his eyes fell gentle on me and his lover trotted in obediently at his heels.
The guard closed the door and Broderick continued to approach as I sat in my chair, unmoving, my hands hidden in the folds of my skirt and I watched.
“You look better, Sjofn,” he said softly.
“You killed my husband,” I replied and watched with morbid fascination as he winced.
Then he whispered, “Sjofn.”
“You killed my husband,” I repeated, holding his eyes.
He stopped in front of me and looked down at me. “I’m sorry I needed to do that.”
“Can you tell me why you needed to do that?” I asked, my voice bland, flat.
It was Phobin who answered with an incredulous, “Why?”
My eyes didn’t leave Broderick as he turned to his lover and hissed, “Quiet,” then turned back to me and his voice was gentle when he explained, “Sjofn, I could see you were taken with him and he you but he’s The Drakkar, The Frey, he commands the fire of dragons and the magic of elves and he let it be known very openly that he would not hesitate to call his beasts in defense of you.” His voice became even gentler when he finished, “I am sorry, my cousin, but he was too powerful to let live.”
“You didn’t believe that then,” I stated and he blinked.
“I’m sorry?” he enquired.
In what I hoped was a good impersonation of Aurora, I regally inclined my chin to indicate Phobin and declared, “It was his idea. When we met in Middleland, you were pleased for me.”
“I was,” he whispered, watching me closely.
“So, tell me, why did you kill my husband?” I asked and he pulled in a light breath.
“Sjofn –” he started but I interrupted him with a wave of my hand.
“It matters not now, Broderick, he is dead. And my father is dead, I assume?” I waited for his careful nod, I took the hit of confirmation of this news and the further hit it took forcing myself not to react and I went on. “But you had different ideas back then, am I wrong?”
“Sjofn, I don’t think –” he began but I interrupted yet again.
And I did this with a soft, “You owe this to me.”
Broderick held my eyes. Then he nodded.
“I thought…” he started then concluded, “exile.”
“And why didn’t you follow through with this thought?” I pressed. “Was it him?” and again I lifted my chin to Phobin.
“He did, I will admit, point out the errors in my thinking.” Suddenly he crouched before me, made as if to reach out for my hand, I pulled back in the chair slightly but not slight enough he didn’t notice. So he gave up, rested his wrists on his knees and kept speaking. “Phobin knew, you know and I also knew but in seeing you so happy, I was denying it, but I knew that The Drakkar would not stay in exile long, no matter what magic or guard or –”
“The adela branch,” I stated, cutting him off again. “You and Phobin, you’ve been collecting sacred relics, articles of power to wield for this endeavor. It isn’t the only thing you had, is it, Broderick?” I guessed a guess that just sprang to my mind.
He smiled a small, actually un-freaking-believably proud smile before he whispered, “Always so clever, my Sjofn.”
“So you have relics, things with magic?” I pushed.
“Indeed,” Broderick replied.
“They would be more powerful if we had the branch,” Phobin muttered, my eyes slid to his angry face and Broderick tilted his head back to look at him. When Broderick did this, he clamped his mouth shut and a muscle ticked in his jaw.
I looked back to Broderick, waited for his eyes to come to me and asked, “You have a witch wielding them?”
“I do,” he answered.
I nodded once then stated, “This makes her very powerful.”
He inclined his head.
Right.
Well then, I’d have to deal with that later and hope to all that was holy Lavinia and Valentine could beat the bitch.
Moving on.
“Then, since you were considering exile, the attack in Houllebec, the poison at the Gales, this was not you?” I enquired.
He shook his head. “The attack in Houllebec was meant to take the life of The Drakkar but you were to be seized and held for ransom then let go. However, the kidnapping would have been a ruse. If this had been successful, it would have meant you were safe with no aspersions cast on us but there would be no imminent heir to the throne until you or your father could find another suitable candidate as husband for you and, in that time, we would have instigated our campaign to unite Lunwyn and Middleland.” At this, his mouth got tight and his eyes slid briefly to Phobin before coming back to me when he went on. “I left that in other’s hands and those chosen for this deed, fortunately for you and The Drakkar, were not very skilled.”
Phobin obviously was behind this maneuver and Phobin obviously fucked it up.
Broderick studied me with eyes back to soft then said, “This was before I saw the two of you together and considered exile.”
He paused for me to speak but I made no reply.
“The poison,” he continued, “was not me. I have allies, heads of Houses from both Lunwyn and Middleland. Until our current campaign, there was…” he paused then finished, “some disagreement about what to do with you and how to contend with The Drakkar. There were those who felt his influence, if not his power, would be diminished if he was not to sire a child on you, the heir to the throne, and therefore they felt, if you no longer lived, obviously, this would not come about. They also felt you were the easier target. And it is known The Drakkar had no ambitions to the throne and it was believed, if you were out of the way, he would continue with his business and, as was his wont, leave the politics to others. During your betrothal he did not show a great deal of interest in you. It was only after, when it became known he…” he paused again, continuing cautiously, “grew to hold a good deal of affection for you that our plans needed to be reconsidered.”