Chapter 16: Chapter sixteen

 Lady Dagmar had the appearance of a Rasira flower in full bloom with her deep purple hair flowing loose around her shoulders. The beautiful night flowers of Svartálfaheimr with their glowing petals, adorned her antlered headpiece, the stems twined around the prongs. Silver eyes filled with an unwavering determination clashed with my winter blue.

As her móðir placed a hand on her arm, Dagmar broke her stare to look at the violet haired woman seated beside her. Lady Rosheen, former concubine of Jarl Ívarr, had a weary, depressed air about her as she spoke to her dóttir, her fingers clutching at the sleeve of Dagmar’s gown as she appeared to be pleading with the younger woman. 

The pair ended their conversation as Ard Tiarna Cináed ascended the stairs of the raised seating area they occupied at the far end of the field. When he took a seat beside his sister, the Ard Tiarna took her hand in his own, pressing a kiss to her knuckles as he spoke to her briefly before his attention turned to Dagmar who sat on the opposite side of Lady Rosheen. 

Watching the familial interactions from my own dais, I could see the care in Cináed’s gaze as he looked at his sister. He had welcomed her home with open arms, not caring in the slightest that she returned in shame after having been set aside. 

If I were in Lady Rosheen’s position, would faðir welcome me home with the same warmth Cináed showed his sister? 

Soft lips brushed over my collar bone as Kyrian pressed himself against my back, his arms coiling around my waist. “The Seelie look confident.”

Relaxing into the warm body behind me, I watched as twelve Aos sí in green tunics paraded onto the field. “Sorcha says they are a well known Knattleikr team in the Múspellsheimr.” 

Kyrian chuckled. “Even so, the Múspellsheimr teams sit at the bottom of the world rankings.” 

“Even below the Vanir?” I asked, genuine surprise coloring my tone. The Vanir were not known to be skilled in combat, or sports. 

“The Vanir got smart, and began bringing in players from other kingdoms for their national team.” 

Cheers filled the air as Helma strode out onto the field with the Skutilsveinr who would be playing with her.

The Dökkálfar were the only ones to cheer for our team, with the residents of the enclave choosing to cheer the opposing Seelie team. 

In addition to the enclaves residents Ard Tiarna Cináed had brought no less than fifty onlookers to witness the match, one of whom carried a Mægic Obscura, whilst another appeared to be broadcasting the proceedings to the Mímir network. 

I wasn’t the slightest bit concerned that I might suffer a loss. Helma had been leading my personal Knattleikr team since I took an interest in the game during my sixth cycle, and the Víðarr assured me the Skutilsveinr she picked were skilled enough to secure our victory. 

The players met in the center of the field, staring at each other with fierce expressions. Helma stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her chin tilted as she stared down at the shorter Aos sí male in front of her. 

A game master dressed in a red tunic walked onto the field, a silver ball tucked under one arm, and a bag containing ten more balls slung over his shoulder. Runic scripture covered the balls creating swirling designs that would glow once they encountered the mægen of each team's goal. 

The game master held each ball high in the air, allowing the spectators and players to see it lacked the glow of mægen to power it before setting it down on the centerline. One either side of the line, a player from each team would step forwards to place their right foot into contact with the ball.

Once all the balls were on the line, and the eleven ball players were paired with their opponents the two goalkeepers were each handed a long silver pole with a hoop at the end. Each goalkeeper ceremoniously slammed their goal into the dirt at opposite ends of the field, their mægen pulsating around them as they imbued the pole with mægic. 

The silver hoop of the Dökkálfar goal positioned behind the opposing teams line was covered in swirling shadows, whilst the goal belonging to the Seelie became a ring of fire. 

My heart pounded a fast rhythm within the confines of my chest as I watched the game master jog off the field, and lift a curved horn to his lips.

As the sound of the horn tore through the air, the players spurred into action, and the field saw its first blood as Helma drove her first into the face of the opposing team's captain.

 The sound of flesh pounding flesh, intermixed with shouts, and the cheering of the crowds filled the air as the game commenced in full.

The Dökkálfar goal keeper, a quick footed woman from the Skjöldr, darted past the fighters, dodging the occasional attempts to waylay her as she made for the Seelie goal. 

Several feet away the Seelie goalkeeper had been brought to the ground by Didrik who slammed a silver ball into the man's chin in an uppercut that sent the man flying. Didrik’s Seelie opposition lay unconscious several feet away, leaving the Skutilsveinr free to race towards the Dökkálfar goal. 

As Didrik flung the ball into the goal, the runic scripture on its surface became dark with shadow mægen. Keeping the claimed ball tucked under one arm, the tawny haired Skutilsveinr ran back into the fray where one of his teammates struggled against their opponent. 

At the opposite end of the field, the Dökkálfar goalkeeper reached the fiery hoop of the Seelie team, and heaved it out the ground. A cheer rose from the crowd of watching Skutilsveinr as the flames extinguished and the Dökkálfar woman ran back across the field carrying the hoop over her shoulders. 

Unfortunately she did not make it far before her path was hindered by a member of the opposing team who tackled her to the ground. They tussled on the grass, the player who tackled her pinning her down as the Seelie goalkeeper staggered over to retrieve his goal, and run it back to its former position where his teammates proceeded to throw two silver balls through the reignited hoop. 

Helma sprinted across the field flanked on either side by Dökkálfar players, each carrying a shadow claimed ball that they deposited into a pile of balls guarded by a pair of our players before rushing back out into the fray. 

Two Seelie players ran towards the guarded balls, appearing as though they were attempting to get past the protectors. 

I let out a pained moan as I watched my team be lured away from the balls, and a Seelie player snuck in to snatch two of the balls from the pile. Kyrian cursed under his breath as we watched the stolen balls go flying through the Seelie goal, the dark scripture on their surface becoming a bright red. 

 “No!” I growled, slumping against the concubine as I watched our team's hoop be plucked out of the ground by the Seelie goalkeeper. Where was our goalkeeper? 

My confidence for a victory began to wane as the Seelie goalkeeper reached their end of the field, and our goal became engulfed in flames. 

I scanned the field, searching for the missing Dökkálfar goalkeeper, and found her captive on the far side of the field. Three Seelie players surrounded the woman, keeping her pushed back into a corner of the field. The Dökkálfar team were struggling to reach her, their attention torn between protecting our claimed balls and the keeper. 

 Finally my Víðarr broke through the line of Seelie, and I cheered as she took one of the opposing players to the ground, her fists a blur as she landed blow after blow. The Dökkálfar goalkeeper dove through the opening, her long legs devouring the distance between herself and the goals. 

Didrik, and two other Dökkálfar players closed ranks around her, barreling through the opposition as they entered the Seelie side of the field. Cheers, and shouts filled the air as the Dökkálfar team reclaimed their goal, before returning to steal the second. 

The two teams clashed as our goalkeeper pried the flaming hoop out of the ground, and began running back across the field. The Seelie goalkeeper attempted to reach her, but found himself facing off against Helma. Stark terror showed on his face as he stared up at the Víðarr, and I derived a petty sense pleasure at the sight of it. 

Raucous shouts filled the air as balls with glowing red scripture were flung one after the other into the two Dökkálfar goals, their coloration shifting to black. The Seelie supporters screamed for their players to save their goalkeeper so he could reclaim his goal, but the Dökkálfar maintained a hard defense, preventing them from retrieving their player from Helma’s grasp. 

 

Slung over Helma’s shoulder the Seelie goalkeeper stared at his teammates with an expression filled with humiliation, and defeat as he was carried deeper into the Dökkálfar controlled side of the field. 

“One more,” Kyrian cheered as another ball went flying into the Dökkálfar claimed goals. “There’s only one ball left.” 

The teams clashed with a vengeance, the Dökkálfar hunting down the final ball, whilst the Seelie attempted to defend it and reclaim their goalkeeper. Only the goalkeepers were permitted to touch the hoops, which meant the opposing team needed their hostage player back in order to have any chance of recovering their lost goal. 

It was difficult to maintain my composure as the last ball went flying into the hoop, its fire mægen changing to dark, and the game master’s horn blew to signify the games end. 

“We won,” Kyrian’s glee was infectious, leaving me unable to contain the excitement I felt as loud cheering overtook the crowds. 

“We did.” My cheeks ached from smiling, but I didn’t care. 

When Helma ascended the dais with her team, I rose from the chaise I shared with Kyrian to greet them. “My Skutilsveinr, congratulations on your victory. The effort you each put into your training is reflected on the flesh of your opponents, and heard in the cheers of our people. You have honored me in claiming this victory, and I shall honor you in return. Tonight you will each join the high table to dine along side me.” 

As the victorious team departed, I turned to Helma, taking in her blood covered appearance. “Do you wish time to take a bath before resuming your duties?” 

The Víðarr nodded, her fingers pinching at her stained tunic. “I believe that would be best.” Helma said, her gaze shifting to Nyx who stood behind the chaise. The pair exchanged a series of quick hand gestures before Helma left for the castle with quick strides. 

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“Come my star, let us console our guests on their loss.” I said, turning to the golden haired Álfr who remained draped over the chaise, his chin propped on the arm rest as he watched the crowds of people interacting below the dais. 

“If we must.” He murmured, lazily rising to his feet. “How about we forgo the consoling, and go celebrate our victory instead? The Seelie nobility are always so whiny when they suffer a loss.” 

“Says the half Seelie.” I teased, reaching up to tug at a golden curl. 

“Exactly,” Kyrian grinned, his hand coming up to capture mine. His lips pressed against the palm of my hand, teeth grazing over the flesh at the base of my thumb.

I stepped closer to him, drawing his face to mine for a kiss. Warmth stretched from my mouth in a long erotic dance down my body, as every nerve fired into heated eagerness. The intent had been for the kiss to be a tender press of lips, but Kyrian pressed his body against mine, deepening our kiss. 

  He walked me backwards until the edge of the chaise bumped against my legs, and together we fell back onto the wide plush seat. 

I moaned as warm hands hiked the skirts of my dress up around my thighs, as teeth nipped and sucked at my neck. Kyrian raised off me, shifting to kneel with his hands cupping my thighs. His gaze roving along my body until he met my eyes. 

The look in his golden eyes made my pulse jump in my throat, and I tried not to show on my face how much I desired him, but knew I failed at the sight of his confident smile. 

My fingers tangled in his hair, and I pulled him back down to meet my lips. I kissed him with a ferocity that I had never felt with any other lover. Passion and lust manifested into a sweeping wave of mægen that consumed all rational thought. 

The power that fueled us was the darkest passions of the night, and the warmth born of the brightest days. Our skin became luminous as our desire grew and a sensual tightness began to build low in my body. The power that tortured us roared ever harder, it gave no time for him to ease into me, no time to be gentle even if we could force ourselves to think that clearly. It roared and screamed, demanding a surcease to our ever growing need. 

I met every thrust with one of my own, pushing backwards with my hips, driving him deeper, harder, and faster. Our mægen filled us, flowed over us, our power chased outwards, shoving aside the tension that built within us. The sweet rush of ecstasy rang out with the echoes of our hoarse cries as we came together in a searing wave of pleasure. 

“You’re not getting out of playing host that easily,” I murmured in a breathless whisper. “We need to go give our greetings to the Ard Tiarna, and his kin.” 

He chuckled, burying his face into the crook of my neck. “Or we could go join the masses below.” 

With a breathy laugh I pushed him off the chaise, sending him tumbling to the floor with a loud thud that brought a faint groan from his lips. Propping myself up on an elbow, I gazed down at the luminous figures that entwined themselves on the field below the dais. 

I sighed, listening to the sound of moans as the Dökkálfar who had been caught in the waves of our power delved into an abyss of pleasure. Spotting a purple haired beauty in the midst of the shining figures, I allowed myself to relax back onto the chaise. The Seelie lord, and his sister were nowhere to be seen, but it seemed Dagmar had remained behind to play amongst my Skutilsveinr. 

“You’ve forfeited your chance to select tonight's companion.” I informed my concubine. 

Kyrian looked unrepentant as he crawled back onto the chaise to settle alongside me. “You didn’t want to endure more pleasantries with the Ard Tiarna anymore than I did. This serves as a reminder to Lady Dagmar of what she will be missing if she chooses to remain among the Seelie.” 

“She never would have remained with the Seelie,” I said, watching as the purple haired woman found her pleasure, her body slumping over that of Stallari Mojmír. “Her heart belongs to Svartálfaheimr.” 

Twisting my head, I looked over to Nyx who stood sentry in place of Helma. “Have Lady Dagmar escorted to the tea room.” 

The Stallari nodded, her hand dropping to her side where she plucked out a personal scrying mirror that she used to relay my orders. 

Brushing a kiss over Kyrian’s cheek, I spoke a few whispered words that had mischievous gleam lighting up his golden eyes. He settled into a reclined pose on the chaise, his expression schooled into a mask of bored amusement as he gazed down at the sensual display on the field below. 

  After a brief glance to where a Dagmar lay basking in the attentions of Mojmír, I left my concubine behind to watch the festivities and headed back to the enclave to await my guest. 

Maitane awaited me in the tea room, an ornate Çaydanlık carved with Rasira flowers set out on the table between two chaises. A platter of artfully prepared fruits, cheeses, and crackers sat alongside bowls containing the various condiments for the tea. 

A vase filled with sprigs of Rasira flowers perfumed the room with their scent, and I allowed myself a brief moment to admire their beauty before settling onto a chaise. It was no secret that Rasira flowers were my favorite bloom. My personal crest, with its four pronged antlers set before a crescent moon contained the hidden image of Rasira flowers embroidered into the shadows curling around the base of the antlers, and I often wore the flowers woven amongst my antlers as child, as did the women who served in my palace. 

It did not escape my notice that Dagmar chose to weave the blooms around her antlered headpiece, and even arranged her appearance in a manner that resembled my favored flower. I had been prepared to sway her with promises of pleasure, and power, yet here she was blatantly offering herself to me. 

 Dagmar arrived shortly after I did, and spoke in a low reverent tone as she lowered herself into a curtsy. “Blessuð nótt, Smártungl.” 

“Blessuð nótt, Dagmar.” I replied, gesturing for her to take the seat opposite me. “The manner in which you requested to meet with me was rather intriguing, I am curious as to what it is you wish to discuss.”

“I wish to be a hefðarkona of the Smártungl.” Dagmar said, not bothering with pleasantries as she accepted the cup Maitane handed her. 

“And what do you offer in return.” I queried, pursuing the selection of additives before settling on Saddilia; a nut with a hard, outer shell. The meat of the nut had a rich, earthy taste similar to nutmeg, and was ground together with sugar to be used in a variety of ways. When added to tea, Saddilia conveyed defensiveness, or distrust with a willingness to open up if the other could convince them.

Dagmar watched me mix the Saddilia into my cup, waiting until after I brought the cup to my lips before reaching for the bowl containing a long slender pink flower with forked petals. The flower known as Ormstunga produced a bitter, spicy tea that was popular with many Dökkálfar. It could be used to convey different things depending on what it was mixed with. Alone it could be used as an indication you wished to build a friendly relationship with someone, but mixed with Elskakyssa, the red kiss of lovers, it symbolized a desire for a heated indulgence. 

The purple haired Álfr trailed her fingers over the rim of the dish containing Elskakyssa, before she withdrew her hand, bringing her cup to her lips. 

I gazed at her in silence as I waited for a response to my question. 

“In truth, that which I can offer is insignificant in regard to what I gain from you.” Dagmar admitted, her eyes fixed on the contents of her cup. “All I have is myself.” 

I stared at the woman with an inscrutable gaze that I spent years perfecting under the guidance of my faðir. Few could meet the deep gaze of the Ríkrtungl, it was a gaze that stared straight through a person's being, penetrating deep within, seeming to raise every hidden secret up to the surface to stand before that cold, all knowing, judging stare. It is a stare that gave focus the full power and majesty of the superior being before you, a stare that demanded supplication. 

Dagmar met my stare for only a brief moment before her eyes lowered back to her cup. “My heart is filled with resentments that I lack the strength to appease, so I would offer myself as a vessel for the power of Smártungl.” 

“Are you aware of the dangers you will face? The games of court are vastly different to those played in Markaðshöfn.” I said, mixing a spoonful of honey into my cup to reflect my willingness to consider her request. 

“I am.” 

“Then I shall ponder this matter, though I feel some reluctance in creating further ties with your Seelie kin.” 

She nodded her head, her lips twisting into a moue of disgust. “You need not worry that Lord Fergus might attempt to regain his place here. He has been sent to serve as a Sveitungr in a holding belonging to our distant kin.” 

 It hadn’t been a concern, but the news of Lord Fergus being relegated to the position of servant brought a smile to my lips.

“I have decided to allow you time to prove yourself worthy of the position you seek.” I declared, setting my cup aside and rising to stand. “You have until the next nótt to gather any belongings, and return.” 

Dagmar placed down her own cup, and stood before dipping into a curtsy. “I shall return promptly.” 

A pang of disappointment welled up within me, as I watched the purple haired Álfr leave the room. The reports of her using a false illness to sneak out of the Jarl’s home, and the message she sent with her poisoning attempt led me to believe I would be engaging in an entertaining game with a skilled courtier. 

I looked at Maitane, not hiding the dissatisfaction I felt. “I expected-” I shook my head with a sigh, not sure entirely what I thought to find in the other woman.   

“There is potential in her. She conducted herself well during your short interaction.” She said, gesturing to the remnants of the tea table. “You must remember that Lady Dagmar is only twenty four cycles old, a mere fourteen older than yourself, and has spent that time suppressed by Jarlkona Norell.” 

She was correct, however I could not shake the feeling of disappointment I felt at the lack of stimulating conversation. “Then let us hope she blossoms from a withered bud, into the blooming Rasira she attempted to portray.” 

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