“You don’t need to apologize.” Though Kyrja was sorry too. Sorry enough that she was tempted to ignore the leagues-long list of things she’d yet to acquaint herself with and walk to Dania’s house with her, just to hear children’s voices raised in an argument about something simple, like whose turn it was to fold the laundry. “Tell the girls hello for me.”
Dania pulled her into a hug, holding on long enough that a bit of the overwhelm had no choice but to retreat. “Come visit soon. You need it. I’ll invite Sven, and you can hear all his grand philosophizing for yourself.”
Kyrja squeezed her best friend back and pasted a smile on her lips. “I will.”
Dania moved to the door but paused with her hand on the latch. “You can do this, Kyrja. You’re the best thing that’s happened to this nation in centuries. The Giver wouldn’t have given you his anointing if it weren’t so.”
She didn’t dare to reply aloud, even with a simple thank-you. Had she tried to speak, her doubt would have dripped from her voice, and Dania would have rushed back over for another hug, and the whole goodbye process would have had to start over.
So she waited until the door clicked, solitude descended, and then she pushed away from the cluttered desk in the study she’d claimed for herself—one that hadn’t been used in half an eternity, so far as she could tell—and trudged over to the window.
The shiver that coursed up her spine had nothing to do with the frost in the corners of the panes, the snow spinning lazily down outside, or the cold radiating off the glass. It had everything to do with the mental grip she had to keep at all timeson the Ice Prison and the thirteen prisoners who seemed to take shifts in trying to break through her locks, so that she never had a moment’s rest. She and Daemon were working on a plan to replace the ice with lava, but they hadn’t managed it yet. So for now, keeping her father and his cronies imprisoned fell solely to her.
Not to mention the storms, the expanse of ice that needed to be maintained around nearly their entire shoreline, and managing the channels for the ships that were petitioning to enter Reykstoll harbor in record numbers.
All the world, it seemed, wanted to meet the new queen.
At least she’d been able to release care of the volcanic mountain range encircling the island entirely to the Aflame. Daemon had insisted they could manage the range without her—that, in fact, her father’s continued control had been to keep them from escaping, not because they couldn’t work without his interference. So far, their word had held true. There’d been no eruptions, minor or otherwise, no vents where they shouldn’t be, no earthquakes to interrupt construction of the newest dome.
But it had only been two weeks. Yes, they’d bent the knee to her at the Coronation Ball ceremony, but she’d seen at a glance that Nik was the one to lead that, and that Daemon, their actualleader, wouldn’t have done a thing to keep the arena from burning to the ground if she hadn’t doused the fire with ice.
Which, yes, was the whole point of the exercise. She didn’t hold it against him.
Still. Daemon was an unknown quantity. Nik she trusted with her life. His mother she trusted simply because she had a feeling Elianne would follow Nik above Daemon. The others? They could be playing nice right now for their own purposes. Testing their limits. Reacquainting themselves with the world of the surface none of them had seen for decades. They could be plotting her demise even now.
Or maybe she was paranoid from lack of sleep.
A knock sounded on the door, and Kyrja sighed as she called out, “Enter.” It would be either Nik or Perla, come to tell her the others had gathered in the dining room and were waiting for her.
Nik today. He entered with a smile that looked as tired as hers felt. “Ready?”
To laugh at whatever the visiting princess’s method of the day would be for irritating Daemon? To listen to the updates from the Aflame? To focus on how this new friend of hers kept his mother at arm’s length, instead of her own family drama that kept picking at her ice in the prison? “Absolutely.”
As long as she didn’t think too much about the work left undone on her desk.
She followed Nik into the hall, securing the whole room with the ice lock she’d installed upon claiming it. Viggo came to attention and fell in behind them once they started down the corridor.
She tried not to pay any attention to Nik’s black leather pants and shirt that got more personalized every day. Better fitting, as the heat molded it to his form. More scrollwork and detailing, which was apparently a rite of passage—or one of few pastimes available to them—Below. Definitely worthy of the stares she knew he and the others earned every time they stepped foot outside.
The Aflame were causing quite a stir in Reykstoll. But though she’d personally witnessed small children screaming and running away from the glowering Daemon, she’d also seen Eldrid juggling flaming rocks to entertain them and people swarming the smiling Nik, who’d gained celebrity status after the Coronation Ball.
Not the way she’d imagined introducing them to Fjordlandi, no—but it had been effective. First in showing the kingdom what they could do, but also in making clear where they stood.And showing them that while the Blessed were known for their impenetrable facades in public, Nik hadn’t been afraid to laugh before the whole assembly.
There were countless images circulating of the two of them, smiling and laughing during their dance. She knew very well that speculation accompanied the images. Enough that Arne had come by this morning to suggest she call for a Test. She needed to marry soon, he said. Get about the business of heirs.
She’d cursed her thane’s complexion as heat seared her cheeks.
The councilman had just given her a stern look. “Perhaps the idea of romance thrills the thanes,” he’d said, “but the Fjorders expect more of their queen. You need a Blessed Union that will provide you with a strong heir. That’s the only thing that matters.”
But was it? She stole another glance at Nik and couldn’t deny that her heart fluttered every time he walked into a room. Not just at the sight of him, though she couldn’t blame the young women of Reykstoll for the sighs she’d heard when he walked by them on his way to the Grand Kyrka. But because of that quick smile, the way he pointed always to the Giver, the humility she’d seen within moments of meeting and every day after, as he sat in that horrid prison cell and didn’t once complain.
She didn’t want to sign a contract with a stranger whose blood the Test said matched hers. She wanted a marriage, covenantal and forever. She wanted a husband who would love her and serve Fjordlandi beside her. Was that so much to ask?
It could be him. The way his blood had zapped through her when she finished his Awakening, the way she swore she could still feel it thrumming in her veins every time their hands brushed, that magnetic pull toward him…it could be him. He could be her best match.
But what if he wasn’t? What if the Test didn’t even know what to make of Aflame blood? If she took the Test, then she’d know, and she’d be expected to abide by it.
What if she didn’t? What if she refused?
