Chapter 15: Chapter fifteen

The rising sun cast a rosy hue across the morning sky, and a chorus of birdsong trickled through the open windows of the office, both of these things were an indication it was time to retire to bed. But, despite the coming of dagr I remained in the office composing a letter to be sent to the applicants who sent requests to transfer to the New York enclave. 

My fingers paused over the keys of the scriber as I scanned over the transparent screen projected above it. The words were polite, yet succinct in their rejection of the applicant’s request for a transfer into the New York enclave. 

A tap of the inscribe key had the words inscribing themselves onto the thin rectangular piece of crystal inserted into the machine which resembled a human typewriter. The inscription popped out with a click, signifying the completion of the inscription and I pressed lightly on it to push it back into place to check the contents. 

“Remind me to request an upgraded scriber for the enclave,” I murmured as I ejected the inscription crystal, and inserted a second one to repeat the process of copying out the rejection letter. “One that can inscribe multiple inscriptions at once is a must.” 

It would have been simpler to use a human computer and printer for the letters, but Maitane had insisted I use the scriber as a show of prestige. Not that there was anything truly prestigious about it, in Níu Heimar most written communication used a scriber. Each inscription crystal could be reused numerous times, and could store a lot more data than a standard piece of paper. Even if a person didn’t own a scriber, or projector they could read the inscription by projecting a light source through the crystal. 

Helma chuckled as she took the finished inscription, placing it into an envelope that she sealed with wax. I had skimped on the envelopes, and used a commercial printing company that specialized in high end stationery to print them with the name, and address of the applicants. “I’m surprised you’re doing this yourself, and didn’t assign the task to someone else.” 

“If I’m busy doing this I have an excuse to avoid Kyrian and Sorcha,” I said, scrunching up my nose at the memory of the pair embroiled in a heated argument about the napkins for the upcoming dinner with the Dökkálfar lords. Who cared what material they were made from? They were napkins! 

The meeting with the lords of the Dökkálfar enclaves in Manna-heim would be the first official event I held since my withdrawal from court, in addition to that it would be the first time I interacted with any of these lords aside from Jarl Shen Bai. 

Despite their positions placing them in charge of our holdings in the human realm, the lords were not high ranked enough to have been granted an invitation to court. Each would have met with faðir upon their appointment to the role, but beyond that it was unlikely they’d had any interaction with the royal hirð. Only Shen Bai who oversaw our interests in Manna-heim was granted the honor of regular invitations to court. 

Absent-mindedly I continued inscribing the rejection letter whilst I went over the lord's names in my mind. We had enclaves in many of the human countries that bordered Svartálfaheimr in the inverted realm of Manna-heim, which included most of Eurasia, parts of Africa, and Australia. In addition to those enclaves there was one in Canada, and now New York. 

This week it was the Dökkálfar lords, then I would host the Seelie, followed by the Unseelie and the lords from each of the Nine. 

Whilst faðir, and athair suggested hosting all the lords for an unofficial coming of age I decided that doing such in the New York enclave wouldn’t be possible. The enclave simply could not accommodate the almost five hundred lords and those they might wish to bring with them to such an event. Instead I would host smaller events to pacify each kingdom's representatives, with the exception of Álfheimr. 

Relations with the Ljósálfar had grown even more tense in the week since my appearance on the live broadcast, with the Unseelie High Queen, and Seelie High King quick to take advantage of the opening I gave for them to make their own demands of Álfheimr. 

In Svartálfaheimr the response had been a chaotic mess to say the least. Dozens of warehouses, and stores which imported wares from Álfheimr had been destroyed in the riots that broke out in the wake of my broadcast. However faðir managed to calm the masses with a declaration of a national holiday to be held on the upcoming anniversary of the attack. Spanning over two nights the holiday would consist of a night for mourning my móðir, the star who birthed a moon, and for the Skutilsveinr who gave their lives to protect that same moon. After which there would be a night of celebration to honor the Skutilsveinr who served to protect Svartálfaheimr. 

The response of Álfheimr’s citizens had also been interesting. Thousands of Ljósálfar filled the streets of the capital to protest the actions of the royals. The people demanded the Ástugrsunna be deposed for her misdeeds. 

Peace had reigned between the Svartálfaheimr and Álfheimr for over seventy cycles, and now in the eyes of the Ljósálfar, the Ástugrsunna and her kin set them on the precipice of war one more. Memories of the war remained fresh in the minds of many Ljósálfar, most having fought or lost kin during the years of bloodshed between the two kingdoms. 

If I closed my eyes I could almost see the board my faðir played on, could see his slender fingers moving the pieces around at his leisure. The Ríkrsunna now had little choice but to discard his wife, and I suspected her sonur would soon suffer a bloody demise. Which left the second, third, and fourth glories in position to take the place as heir. 

I gazed down at the inscription crystal in my hands, a smile curling over my lips. Just as faðir had taken a Ljósálfar concubine into his court, the Ríkrsunna took a Dökkálfar noblewoman into his. Not only was Lady Vryenn kin to the prince consort Helvern, she gave birth to the second glory. If faðir intended to put the nephew of his consort on the Ljósálfar throne. . . It would explain his anger that I did not consult him about the broadcast. 

The plans faðir had in place were disrupted, and he was forced to press forwards sooner than intended. No doubt he planned to wait for the Ríkrsunna to weaken further before striking down the Ástugrsunna, and her sonur. Though, why give consideration to the third glory as concubine? She wasn’t of any political importance, her móðir had been a common born Ljósálfar noblewoman who secured her position by seducing the Ríkrsunna. 

Ah, but she was pure born. That put her claim to the throne above that of Anwar, and Kyrian who were both born to a non-Ljósálfar móðir. As a concubine, her claim would have been forfeit due to her matrimonial ties to another kingdom. Which would have left the second, and fourth glory, the latter now holding the position as my concubine. That, plus the current political climate meant faðir wouldn’t claim the third as a concubine. 

“My moon, your hand.” Helma’s voice cut through my wandering thoughts. 

A faint throbbing pain drew my attention to the hand which held the thin piece of crystal, blood dribbled over my fingers as I relaxed my grip and dropped the fragments of the shattered inscription onto the desk. I lifted my bloody hand towards the Víðarr who tended the wound, healing it with a touch of gentle mægen. 

“I have been away from court too long,” I sighed, withdrawing my hand from her grasp. “My mind lacks the sharpness to see the board at large. I attempt to play, but all I achieve is to knock over the pieces faðir has in place.” 

“You are sharper than you give yourself credit for,” Helma said as she brushed the shattered shards of crystal off the desk into a waste basket. “That is why the Ríkrtungl has given you a board of your own to play on until you are ready to join his. Entertain yourself with the pieces he grants you, and worry not over those that are out of your reach.” 

I nodded, looking down at the scriber. Helma was correct. I needed to focus on the enclave, and tending to my personal game rather than that of Nine. Fortunately the response fadir had to Kyrian was one of amusement, which meant I hadn’t muddled things up too much by taking the fourth glory out of his game, and into my own.

A brief knock preceded Maitane’s entry into the office. The elderly woman moved with a hurried, almost skittish air as she carried a tea tray to the desk. 

“You look tired, Maitane.” I said, a teasing note in my voice. “Maybe you should rest.”

 Mai stiffened, the skin around her eyes creasing into deep wrinkles as she gave me a jerky nod before leaving the room in a rush. 

“That was a poor attempt at a glamour,” I murmured as Helma picked up the pitcher of milk, her brow raising as she swirled the contents of the pitcher around. 

A sickly floral scent drifted across my senses, wafting from the pitcher and Æsa lunged out from the shadows beneath the desk with a fierce snarl. 

Placing a hand on the Garmr’s head, I soothed the canine as Helma passed the pitcher to me.

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“Shall I apprehend them, my moon,” Helma asked, as I brought the pitcher to my nose, breathing in the scent of the poison. 

“Yes, I suppose you should.” I sighed, as I set down the milk pitcher. The poisoner had used Essie’s Bane, an interesting choice, it wouldn’t be fatal, but I'd be in for a painful few hours of stomach cramps if I did consume it. 

One thing was clear, the tray came from a person who didn’t know their tea etiquette. The real Maitane would never bring me milk, nor would anyone who knew the Dökkálfar etiquette for preparing such a tray. Their glamor hadn’t even been properly cast, leaving the image of Maitane to ripple and shift as they moved. 

“I tire of these tacky, and unskilled attempts.” I complained, looking down at Æsa who rested her chin on my knee. I scratched behind the canine’s ear as I waited for Helma to return. “Such a strong scented poison in milk of all things. It’s no fun when the assassination attempts are so poorly done.” 

I huffed out another sigh, my gaze roaming over the tea tray. I hadn’t even requested tea, yet now it was here all I could think about was quenching my thirst. The poison had been in the milk, so the tea should be fine. My hand moved to the Çaydanlık, ready to pour myself a cup when Æsa’s sharp nip at my leg brought me to a jarring halt. 

Laughter spilled from my lips as I eyed the Çaydanlık on the desk. Now that made more sense. The subpar glamour, the obvious poison, it was to get me to let my guard down. 

“Víðarr, to me!” My words rang out with a low thrum of power that tugged at the band of shadow that encircled the middle toe of my left foot. The shadow tightened, then released signaling that Helma was on her way. 

Helma burst through the door seconds later, three Skutilsveinr on her heels. Each held their swords at the ready as they spread themselves around the room, and surrounded me with a protective barrier. 

“The Çaydanlık.” I said, directing their attention to the tiered teapot. 

The Víðarr strode over to the tea tray where she inspected the Çaydanlık with a furrowed brow. Her brow creased even further as she opened the top chamber to examine the contents. “I sense a faint residue of mægen, but cannot trace its purpose or origin.” 

“It happened after you departed,” I explained, telling her about the sudden desire to pour myself a cup of the tea. 

As Helma poured out a small amount of tea, I stroked Æsa’s head, deciding I would give her the assassin's heart once they were found. 

Helma brought the tea cup to her lips, and swilled a mouthful of the amber liquid before spitting it back into the cup. “Nocturne’s allure.” 

“Expensive,” I hummed. Rare too. 

“You’re pleased?” My Víðarr said with a wry smile. 

“You know who likes to use Nocturne?” I asked, before continuing without waiting for a response. “The nobles of Markaðshöfn, it grows in their region after all.” 

“Indeed.” Helma confirmed, her gaze shifting to the Çaydanlık. 

“My moon, you believe this attack to have come from Markaðshöfn?” One of the Skutilsveinr who formed my escort asked. 

I glanced up at the woman thoughtfully as I traced a finger around the rim of the tea cup. “Not quite.”

 The Skutilsveinr exchanged looks before turning their attention to the tea cup, and back to me. They didn’t question me further as they maintained their formation around the chair I sat in. 

“Helma, do you recall the first time I ingested Essie’s bane?” I asked, indicating the milk pitcher that contained said poison. 

“Your first encounter with Essie’s bane was during your fifth cycle at a tea party with your móðir, and the concubines of the royal hirð.” The Víðarr answered, her silver eye drifting from the pitcher to the Çaydanlık. “A Seelie pet of your faðir added the poison into the Glóabær syrup, a treat you favored at the time.” 

I smiled, nodding my head. The poison had left me in agony for hours, and when I recovered, faðir took me to the arena to watch his foolish pet be torn apart by the royal Garmr. From what I could recall, the man had poisoned me at the behest of Concubine Kamilla who attempted to use my illness to curry favor by conveniently having a remedy for the effects of Essie’s bane. 

“And Nocturnes allure?” 

“A fallen noblewoman of Markaðshöfn attempted to poison you with it during your seventh cycle in hopes of regaining Jarlkona Norell’s favor.” Helma said, a glimmer of anger in her gaze. That poisoning attempt had ended the life of a maid the Víðarr frequently took to her bed, and who might have become the other woman’s spouse if not for her death. 

“A Seelie, and a fallen noblewoman of Markaðshöfn.” I met Helma’s gaze, my mouth curled into a sardonic smile. “Bold little thing, isn’t she?” 

“It appears so.” Helma’s lips twitched, her expression matching my own. 

I pondered my responding move, going over different scenarios in my mind. This opponent was unfamiliar to me, yet at the same time I felt a kinship with her. What was that proverb humans were fond of? Ah yes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. How quaint. 

Reaching for the scriber, I typed out a brief letter and hit the key to inscribe the slide before handing it to the Víðarr. “Have this delivered to Ard Tiarna Cináed, and arrange the training field for a game of Knattleikr.”

Let's see if the enemy of my enemy was capable enough to hold the position of friend.

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