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“Some of the men who attacked you managed to escape unharmed,” said Hildegard. “My hawks followed their tracks for some time across the ice. The tracks led south, back to Rothen. It was not long before my scouts saw the army, camped on the southern side of the Hell Gate pass. They wave the Volta banner.”
“Is this an interrogation, then?” Elma asked, not bothering to ask how the queen had obtained so much information from mere hawks. If Slödava had magic weapons, who knew what other mysteries lay behind these icy walls. “You believe I mustered the forces of Rothen in secret and ordered them to follow me?”
“No,” said Rune, “but… there’s more. Another banner was raised alongside yours. Your men confirmed it this morning, based on description. The banner belongs to Lord Godwin.”
“This is a trick,” Elma said. Ice gripped her heart. “Your hawks must be incorrect.”
“My hawks,” said Queen Hildegard, her face a mask of calm, “are never incorrect. They pride themselves on sharp hearing and even sharper vision.”
“This is very much not a trick,” Rune added quickly, “though I’m sure we both wish it was. Your uncle rides on Slödava against your orders. His own men waylaid you on the ice, killing their own in an attempt to get to you. Whatever it is he intends to do now, it won’t be in the name of honor.”
Elma’s knees threatened to buckle. She had no choice but to reach out for the table, steadying herself. She exhaled shakily. “One by one, you’ve declared my allies traitors. My advisors, then Cora, now myuncle. How am I supposed to believeyou? That this isn’t… some means of getting me alone and taking my throne from me.”
“Elma,” Hildegard said, her voice kind. “We would not deceive you in such a way. But we couldn’t, in good conscience, hide this from you. In a few days’ time, the army of Rothen will be camped on the Frozen Sea with your banner on display. Your men are sending a message, clear and undeniable.”
She hated to acknowledge it, but Elma felt in her gut that the other queen was not lying. Elma had not called for war; her banner’s use alone was tantamount to treason. But for Godwin to fly his own colors, green and gold, alongside hers, when she had clearly stood against this war her advisors so desired… her fingers, splayed on the table, curled into a fist. Godwin had been on her side.
“When my uncle arrives,” she said, “I would like to speak with him alone.”
“He’s very clearly intent on war,” Rune said. “Do you really think a few words from you will change that?”
Elma spun on him. “I am Lord Godwin’s queen. Those aremysoldiers riding on Slödava, betraying me. The last thing I’ll do is hide from them behind some pretty wall. If they’re determined to commit the highest form of treason, they will do it to my face.”
An expression almost like admiration hovered on Queen Hildegard’s face.
“I’ll go with you,” Rune said. “If nothing else, let me be your blade.”
Elma was tempted to refuse; she didn’t want to need him. But she was alive now thanks to Rune. And there was no telling what Godwin might do if given the chance. “Fine,” she said, “if your queen allows it. But I need you to be mybodyguard, my shadow. If my uncle doesn’t know your true identity, I’d rather keep it that way.”
“A good queen always has at least one ace up her sleeve,” Hildegard said, thoughtful. “Let my son be yours and prove himself useful for once.”
“I beg you,” Rune said to his mother, “at least refrain from harming my ego untilafterwe’ve eaten.”
“My son is more than tolerable,” said Hildegard, moving around the table to offer her arm to Elma, as a close friend or confidante would, “but only when he’s fed.”
“Ha,” Rune said, trailing behind the two queens as they took their leave. “Always making jokes, my mother.”
Breakfast was an intimate affair, located in what seemed to be one of Queen Hildegard’s personal parlors. Rune perched on a rather uncomfortable-looking chair, while Elma and Hildegard sat together on a grand settee. Trays were brought in, laden with steaming bowls of honey and cinnamon porridge, sausages, coffee, hot wine, and even fruit.
When Elma asked about the fruit, wondering how they kept it fresh, Hildegard explained that it was packed in ice and cold stones, and sent directly from Mekya. Apparently, a vibrant trade had blossomed between Slödava and other countries of the continent. Slödava offered artisans and blacksmiths, musicians and painters, in return for food, resources, and things that could not be obtained in the isolated north.
With Rothen’s inability to offer more than weaponry, and King Rafe’s obstinate personality that had bordered on antagonism, Elma realized that her kingdom sat isolated, unwilling and unable to give Navenie and Mekya what they needed. And so, it, like Elma, huddled untouched in the frozen north, alone and feeble.
Even as the conversation turned toward lighter things —music, art, and culture — Elma’s thoughts clung to Rothen. Her birthright, a dying thing. Her father had hungered so much for war that he had left her a shriveled throne, carried on the backs of its slowly starving people.
After breakfast, Hildegard pulled Elma aside. “I have great hope for your kingdom,” the other queen said. “But until your men are firmly under your thumb, there can be no peace between our nations. Many lives hang in the balance. My son believes in you.” She held Elma’s gaze with ice-blue eyes. “Don’t fail him.”
Elma’s heart was in her throat. This was more than she deserved, yet the words stung. She hardly believed in her ability to speak sense into her uncle, let alone call off the dogs of Rothen.
Even so, she said, “I won’t.”
“Good. Then please, for gods' sake, go and entertain him for a while. He’s spoken of nothing but you since you arrived.” Her smile was tinged with sadness. “He has been lonely for such a long time.”
“So have I,” Elma said, unthinking.
“Then perhaps your meeting wasn’t by chance,” said Hildegard. Her smile brightened, and she took Elma’s hand in hers. “In a few days, we don our armor, if we must. But today, we rest. And find joy where we can.”
Rune was waiting for Elma in the corridor, leaning against the wall. Before he turned to greet her, she saw him in profile, his features so elegant in the palace, his frost-white hair, the dark tan skin, the curve of his neck above the frothy doublet collar.
