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Ander.
No longer did I look at the window. No longer were my eyes straining for the tiny patch of sun. From the moment Steffen left, I had sank where I was standing on the floor, my legs sprawled awkwardly beneath me, the chain like a ribbon, snaking back to the wall. My mouth had gone slack, and my eyes were vacant and wide as the moon. They settled on nothing, drifting over the wall.
The funny thing was, it wasn’t the first time I’d heard the name. I remembered standing at times behind the king, holding my faithful pitcher. Ander had been a bannerman, one of the few he’d considered for an heir. A man like fire, he’d called him. A living flame.
Just like his son.
Ander...is Erik’s father.
My head tilted to the side, stringing the words together in different ways. No matter how many times I did, it didn’t seem to help anything. It was too big, too unlikely. Our kingdom was great, but our villages were spread thin—connected by rough trails that were susceptible to both weather and bandits. You stayed in the part of the land where you were born. The northerners clung to their frozen mountains. Those from the south lingered in the balmy sun. Unless one was a sailor or soldier or merchant, there were few occasions in which to travel. And yet, by some astronomical convergence, my mother had fallen for a man at the festival. And I’d fallen for that same man’s son.
And we were both sentenced to death.
Yes, it was too big for digestion, too unlikely to process. And too tragic, if I was being honest. What were the odds that our bloodlines would cross not just once, but twice? Both times playing out the same way. With a sweet smile, and a summer fantasy, and a terrible lapse in judgement. There was another way to string those words together, but I was taking my time.
Ander killed my mother.
It may not have been an entirely fair statement, but it had the merit of being true.
I’d heard a version of it from Trina, another from Steffen’s own mouth. The pair might have been falling head over heels in love, but the moment Ander knew my mother’s secret, he turned her over to the guards. There was no hesitation or delay. He simply walked her to the soldiers.
In my mind, I could almost picture it happening. A famed bannerman, tall and unsmiling, his handsome features drifting occasionally into another young bannerman I knew.
Erik’s father killed my mother.
That was another way to string them, probably the hardest. Because despite the shock that had felled me, despite the feelings of belated fury wreaking havoc upon my heart, I didn’t believe for a single second Erik knew that particular secret. He took his blows straight on, and seemed utterly incapable of being anything less than authentic. He would not have kept such a thing to himself.
It would have been an affront to his honor. On that, at least, I could depend.
...I think.
Of course, there was no way to know for certain. Of course, it scarcely mattered that I knew myself. What did it change when I was living on the king’s convenience? My world had narrowed to the size of a window, and everything that had come before was like petals caught in the breeze.
What did my mother think of him?
Strangely enough, it was the question that preoccupied me most of all. She had apparently been in love with this man, she’d been swept away in a blissful summer. Yet in the moment of her greatest vulnerability, when she needed above all things to trust, he’d turned his back—pointing the way towards the river’s edge. Did he regret the decision? Did she have time to dwell on it before they led her off to death? Did the two share a final moment, staring into each other’s eyes?
I thought how it must have looked to Trina—to be sitting in the darkness only a few nights before, watching as Ander’s son fixed the kitchen door, swinging it back and forth with a grin. To have watched as he leaned down his face to mine, the tips of his fingers resting on my cheeks.
Why didn’t she tell me? She must have known.
It was no wonder she’d screamed at me, cautioning against such things. It was a miracle she hadn’t grabbed the hatchet from the mantle and chased him right out the door. To have seen it happen once was just barely survivable. To watch the same thing playing out again...?
I thought again of Erik, unable to separate the two.
It was murder, what his father had done. He was no better than an executioner. I had decided this almost immediately, rendering the verdict in a special corner of my mind. The man was a traitor, and my mother had died for her love. But the same couldn’t be said of Erik.
He didn’t ask me to use magic, he didn’t have the faintest idea I could. The only thing he’d asked was that I stay with him, despite our difference in station. And when the vision came...?
I remembered the look on his face. The blind horror as he raced through the crowd.
He hadn’t turned on me, delivering me to the hands of the guards. He’d spoken out against them, risking his own safety in the process. He’d pleaded with his uncle, setting aside his pride. As if that wasn’t enough, he’d climbed the face of the prison, just to spend a night lingering by my side.
No, I couldn’t compare them. Ander and Erik. The situations might have shared an uncanny similarity, but the men were absolutely nothing alike. I was certain of this, needing it to be true.
There was a bang outside my door, and I lifted my head in shock.
Since Steffen had left, I hadn’t been paying attention. My earlier vigil at the window would have surely seen people coming, but now, it was already too late. I drew up my knees to my chest, staring with saucer eyes at the door. What did it matter, a failed love story from a decade past?
I was about to die.
The door swung open, and for the second time that day, I scrambled wildly to my feet, utterly astonished by the man who stepped inside. I wouldn’t have thought they permitted the king to travel beyond the gate of the prison. Too many unsightly images, too many germs. Yet there he stood, looking just as regal as he’d been on horseback, riding to the settlement a few days before.
I remembered watching him from the ramparts. I’d liked the way he smiled.
“It’s you,” he said suddenly, looking just as surprised to see me. He cast a look at one of the guards beside him for confirmation. The man nodded silently. “You were serving ale in the tent.”
The tent.
That was what he called the Great Hall we reserved for honored guests and royalty. So different it was from his own majestic capital, the man had no better name for it than a tent.
I nodded silently, twisting my fingers behind my back.
I remembered, too, the way the soldiers had debated breaking my hands. To reduce the risk of her casting, they’d said. The king was standing in front of me. I worried they might do it now.
The man’s eyes swept over me, lingering on the sleepless shadows, the trembling wrists. He paused a moment at the rusted chain stringing from my leg. Then he lifted a hand.
“Leave us,” he commanded.
I let out a silent breath, as the soldiers flanking him turned in shock. Not until that moment did I recognize one of them as the same guard who’d attempted to assault me, the one who offered to pay me for the king’s secrets with a shining silver coin. He glanced my way, fingers curls into fists.
“Sire,” he began in a low voice, “I would never question you—”
“Then don’t,” the king interrupted, never taking his eyes from mine. “Leave.”
The two of us stared at each other as the guards fidgeted nervously at his side. Unwilling to leave his sovereign alone in the company of a witch, the lieutenant tried again.
“The girl is a witch, my lord. There is no telling...”
The king turned slowly, looking him directly in the eyes. “Leave.”
They left without another word of protest, the hems of their cloaks swishing the ground behind them. As the door clicked shut, the quieter one leveled me with a threatening glare, as if I’d rethink my wicked plans of regicide for no other reason besides a flash of his eyes.
It was quiet when they left, just the two of us.
Uncertain what was happening, I dropped my eyes safely to the floor—glancing up only very quickly to check the king hadn’t brought his sword. For all I knew, the man was going to kill me right there on the spot. I’d certainly been waiting long enough for his permission.
But he hadn’t brought his sword. I didn’t even see any blades.
For all his legend and bravado, the king looked as hesitant as me.
“You were serving ale,” he said again, like he was trying to orient himself. I nodded mutely, and his forehead creased with a little frown. “You were there again at the arena, pouring in the royal box. They let you come into the...” His eyes caught on my brooch. “Ah, but I see you’ve got one.”
I followed his gaze, then nodded again. It seemed ridiculous that I was still wearing it, but to be honest, I didn’t have a way to take it off. Where would I put it? On the ground?
He nodded as well, looking me over. “I’ve heard the story already,” he admitted, taking a step away from the door. No doubt his guards were pressed anxiously on the other side. “I got it the very first day. They say you cursed a horse in the village square, almost trampled one of my bannermen in the process.” His eyes grew bright with attention, fastening onto mine. “Is this true?”
I shook my head without speaking, biting very hard at my lower lip. It wasn’t that the king was an inherently bad man, it was hard to even blame him. Ours was a life filled with barbarities.
This was simply one of them.
“I saw the horse was going to spook,” I answered softly, hoping it was allowed. Perhaps I had been wrong about the execution. This was merely the trial. “So I called a warning to Er—to your bannerman.” I tensed, flashing him another look. “There was nothing more than that.”
The king regarded me intently. “You saw the horse was going to spook?” he repeated.
There was a pause.
“I saw before it actually happened.”
No point in denying it. They saw my eyes turn gold.
“Ah,” he murmured, adjusting his robes, “that is the tricky part.”
A kind of sigh wilted my shoulders, a quiet deflating. Perhaps some part of me had still hoped...the man was known to be just, I liked the way he smiled. But there was never any chance this kind of story would have a different ending. We lived in a land where witches burned.
He bowed his head for a moment, perhaps out of respect. “Tell me,” he asked softly, “do you regret it?”
I lifted my eyes, looking at him uncertainly.
“I remember you from the tent,” he said plainly. “I remember you being polite and discreet, never anything else. Almost two decades you have lived in this settlement—you must be nearly of age—never have you caused any trouble. And now you do—it is only to shout.”
Seems rather anticlimactic.
I froze beneath his gaze, it seemed he was asking a question.
“You shouted a warning,” he added, almost prompting.
It took a second, then I understood.
This is about Erik.
The king nodded, like I’d said the words aloud.
For all the frenzy there was surrounding witches, terror and panic sweeping throughout the land, he didn’t seem remotely concerned by my presence. Nor was he put off by my prison. Instead of keeping his distance, he stepped further inside, his cloak billowing around him. I watched little flurries of dust swirl away in clouds as he crossed his arms in front of him, clasping his hands. It was an elegant gesture, where on others it might have seemed condescending.
“You may have been born with the dark gift,” he said plainly, “but it’s clear you had no desire for this kind of life. Nor did you wish for it to end in this manner. You were not trying to arouse suspicion, you were only trying to save him. You gave up your life, to save him.”
He paused a moment, allowing the words to hang between us.
“I wish to give the boy my kingdom. I would know your true thoughts.”
I blinked, staring at him.
Surely there must be something else. Surely I couldn’t be understanding. The king of the realm was standing in front of me. My king, the only one I’d ever had. He’d come without his sword, though he’d made it clear I was going to die. But in the meantime, he wished to discuss Erik?
“I don’t understand,” I finally answered, waiting for the rest of it. Girls were never asked their opinion on anything. Witches were not permitted to speak. “My true thoughts?”
The king regarded me patiently, like a kindly grandfather. “You’ve lived in this settlement all your life, yes?” he prompted. “The two of you had never met before?” I shook my head, staring in silence. “So you risked everything for a boy you’ve known less than a week. A secret you’ve kept nearly eighteen years—you gave it up for Erik. Why is that?”
I froze where I stood, wondering if he knew how many times I’d asked myself that same question. Wondering what he would say if he knew that Erik had climbed up the walls of that very prison, if only to ask it himself. I had no better answer now than I did then.
“I don’t know,” I said softly, wishing it was something better, “I didn’t think about it. I’d never had a...” I shook my head, deciding it was better to avoid that part. “It took me by surprise. I saw it flash before my eyes, clear as I’m seeing you know. The horse was pawing the air above his head, he would not have survived it. There were just seconds, I didn’t...I didn’t think about it.”
The king nodded slowly, absorbing every word.
There was more I could have told him. For a moment, I debated telling the entire truth: that the horse hadn’t spooked on its own, that it had been cut by another of his majesty’s troublesome bannermen. I debated telling him that Erik’s life was still in danger, only temporarily postponed.
But the man was fond of Steffen, had known him for years. It would be my word against his, and Erik himself hadn’t seemed to believe me. I could only imagine the way the king’s face would harden, the way his eyes would flick to the door. Witch. Why had he even bothered to ask?
“You shouted on impulse,” he surmised, only the slightest hint of suspicion coloring his tone. Not even suspicion, more like disbelief. “After so many years...you didn’t think?”
Alright, it sounds bad the more times people say it.
“It’s not that I didn’t think, it’s just...” I trailed away helplessly, wondering why he’d even asked the question. I was already going to die for my impulsivity, did I really need to explain it as well? “Would you not shout?” I finally asked, meeting his gaze. “If it would save a man’s life?”
Would you really have to think about it?
The king nodded again, looking inexplicably satisfied. His clear eyes swept over me, warming with the faintest trace of a smile. “It depends on the man. What do you think of him?”
My cheeks flushed, but the rest of me went abruptly cold. “I scarcely know him,” I answered stiffly, taking a reflexive step back. The king presented with questions and smiles; it was easy to forget the terrible power in his hands. “Like you said, we only met within the last few days. You would need to ask someone—”
“You risk nothing to him by telling me,” he interrupted, steady and calm. “I ask not seeking further punishment. I have told you already, I wish to give the boy my kingdom. But I would know more of him, before I give up my chair. His uncle has told me little. I was to take him hunting...”
...before my untimely revelation.
Our eyes met for the briefest of moments, before looking away. Him to the window, and me to the floor. In truth, there was very little I could think to say of Erik that the king wouldn’t know already. He was athletic and well-spoken, with the brimming vitality of a young god. A champion in the arena, who’d stolen the heart of the crowd, yet he was humble in victory—raising his eyes first to the heavens, before he thought to throw up his arms. He was a perfect Viking, a shining example for generations to come. I’d thought it the first moment I saw him.
But that was not exactly what the king had asked.
“He doesn’t like crowds,” I said abruptly.
The king looked at me, clearly surprised. A few seconds passed, before he rubbed his chin with a faint smile. “That is not exactly a point in his favor—”
“I would think it more troubling to offer the crown to a man who was reaching for it, rather than one who does not crave the attention of others. I would think of all the men who are surely jockeying for that position, it might offer peace of mind to choose the sole person who is not.”
You just corrected the king. And interrupted him.
My eyes flashed up in terror, only to see the man staring at me with a slightly puzzling expression. He wasn’t angry, which was my worry. If anything, he looked on the verge of a smile.
When I paused, he waved me forward.
“Please, continue.”
After a few seconds of hesitation, I did so quietly, spinning out the best I could think to offer, and letting the man parse it for himself. How was I to know a king’s measuring stick?
“He spoke to me, though I was below his station; he acted in defense of a servant who was being bullied by the son of another lord. He plays with children,” I added, smiling before I could stop myself. It felt strange on my face after so many days locked inside the dim walls of my prison, tickling the skin. “I have not known him long, but I’ve spent most my life pouring drinks and listening to the people around me. I would call him a good man.”
Like something from a bard’s tale, we stood in silence at opposite ends of the cell; the witch and the king, discussing the line of succession. If one of us hadn’t been awaiting their execution, it might actually have been a comical scene. I waited in silence for his verdict, unable to know if I’d told him anything remotely useful, or if those things held significance only to me.
It was quiet for a lengthy moment, then the king’s eyes crinkled with a smile. “And I would say that speaks well of him.”
There was movement in the hallway; a faint shuffling, paired with the low muttering of voices. No doubt, the soldiers had convinced each other the haggish witch had done away with their beloved sovereign, and despite his explicit orders, the only responsible course of action was to muscle down the door. The king apparently thought so too, because he glanced over with a sigh.
“My jailors,” he murmured, before realizing this struck a little too close to home. “I would thank you for speaking with me,” he continued; suddenly formal, though a trace of that kindness remained. “I imagine these last few days have not been easy, all the more so given my absence.”
I merely bowed my head, looking politely at the ground.
For a fleeting moment, I imagined throwing myself on the stone beneath him, pleading for mercy as I clasped at his feet. No doubt the guards would break down the door in earnest, but I couldn’t imagine such a display would hold any sway over the king’s mind. The man already made his decision; he’d told me from the start. I was a witch, there wasn’t a decision to make.
As if to reaffirm this, he gestured to the courtyard.
“I will meet with council, then proclaim your sentence. You will not need to wait long.”
A shiver ran through me, and I lifted my eyes. He was already leaving, adjusting the clasp beneath his chin as he swept to the door. It was equal parts terrifying and reassuring. Yet, my mind didn’t linger. Perhaps it couldn’t. Perhaps I was too distracted by what had come before.
I cannot beg. But I can warn him.
“It does not surprise me,” I called out suddenly, “that his uncle told you little. Nor did it surprise me, when he told Erik to saddle the horse.”
The king paused at the door, meeting my eyes. He stood there for a moment, staring back without a shred of expression. Then very slightly, he inclined his head.
“You seem a good child,” he said in reply, “I am sorry this befell you.” He placed a hand to his chest, like he could feel it. “Not all witches deserve to burn.”
I watched as he stepped into the hall, watched the door close behind him.
And yet...we do.
