Three months had passed since Lucia’s mother went to Valhalla, but the rawness she felt in her heart had failed to heal. It took all she had just to get up morning after morning and face another day where everything and everyone she encountered reminded her that the person she loved most was no more.
Nora was true to her word, and quickly became Lucia’s confidante. Whenever she needed to vent about her father, Nora would lend an understanding ear, and when Lucia could no longer keep up the façade, pretending she was strong and had triumphed over her broken heart, Nora was there to hold her as she sobbed.
Lucia’s father had become more controlling than ever, and his lectures had increased in both length and frequency. She let most of his incessant blabber go in one ear and out the other. Who could blame her? Surely no one expected her to listen to him when she was not planning on ruling like her father in any way. And if they did, she would do away with them once she took the throne.
The day before her coronation, Olav awoke her early and demanded she attend a sermon with Vilda in the Christian stave church.
Over the past few months, Lucia had come to the conclusion that the gods had caused her mother to die because her mother had turned her back on them. After she died, her mother had seen the truth and had repented of her ways, and since two faithful handmaidens had been sacrificed at the Norse burial, her mother was granted admission to Valhalla. The Norse gods are merciful.
When she had told her father she would not attend the profane sermon, he had said that if she desired to be a great monarch, she needed to educate herself about what her people believed.
“Know your friends well, but know your enemies intimately,” he had said.
That was not the way she saw it.
When she became their ruler, she would tell her people what to believe, she had thought. As their leader, she had a responsibility to guide them on the right path. Lucia did not want any curse to befall her kingdom due to this false religion and so closing down the Christian church would be one of the first things she did after she became queen.
Just as her father was about to leave her room, an idea had come to her. If she did go to the sermon, she could see exactly who had betrayed the true gods and who she would need to target once she was ready to take the church down. She conceded to go.
When Lucia arrived at the stave church, Bishop Peter greeted her and Vilda warmly. He was just as tall as she remembered, however, the heathen looked even thinner than before—sickly so. He had dark circles underneath his blue eyes, and he spoke slowly.
Lucia had never been to church before, and being so close to commoners—only a few feet away—certainly made her feel out of place. I shall burn the Christian church down until there is nothing left but the ashes of ashes, she fumed as the bishop seated her and Vilda up at the front in one of the seats reserved for dignitaries.
Just as the man of God took the pulpit and began to speak, Lucia studied the space. Certainly, it was nice to see gold and silver, but she could not understand why such fine things could be found in this place. Her mother always said they must lay up treasures for themselves in heaven, not on earth where moth and rust doth corrupt. She had never understood why someone would live for the afterlife. The only thing that was certain was the here and now.
Their dead God hung on a cross above the pulpit, and it looked as if he were in agony. Norse gods were much happier and were not nailed to a symbol such as this for eternity. Her gods were more powerful, too, and possessed magical abilities and special objects in which would grant the owner special abilities. Thor could create lightning and thunder. Freya could fly with her magical cape of falcon feathers. Odin had given up his one eye for wisdom. Nothing seemed special about this god of peace and humility. No, nothing at all.
Vilda’s pants annoyed Lucia almost more than the bishop’s monotone voice. Does she ever not pant? She certainly could not remember a time. She brought her hand up to her mouth to hide a yawn.
Lucia’s eye raked the congregations as she tried to commit to memory the hundreds of people’s faces. She quickly realized she would not be able to remember all of them after seeing them just once, so she focused on the people sitting on the two front pews. There sat a burly, bearded man and his healthy wife. The woman’s smile was so scintillating it was difficult not to notice her, and the way the man looked at the woman, Lucia could tell he loved her dearly. It was a shame they had been deceived into believing this fallacy and it would be a shame if they did not renounce their new beliefs when they would be given an ultimatum. Lucia had learned long ago that people would rather die than give up their beliefs. Even if those beliefs were wrong.
Beside them, sat a thrall. She wore a long skirt, but Lucia still noticed how one of the woman’s legs was shorter and thinner than the other. Thralls were allowed to attend church service with them? Next sat a mother and father with four children. Perhaps Lucia could spare the Christian children and raise them in the right way. It was not their fault their parents had brought them into this. The children were innocent.
Bishop Peter gripped the pulpit with both hands and his heavy eyelids almost opened all the way.
“Bergendal has gradually declined into poverty as grief and fear have stolen the minds and hearts of its people. It is the kind of fear that is always lurking, always present, and will never grant peace to anyone who chooses to bear such sorrow. You have all become comfortable with living in fear and pain. Beware, for the longer you live with it, the more likely the pain will become bearable.
“You will gladly embrace suffering into your hearts and become one with it, barely noticing its toxic, deadly presence. It is everywhere and even some of our leaders have welcomed this dangerous state of mind. We must be watchful, always standing guard at the door of our souls, to not let the devil enter in with fear and sorrow. Amen.” Bishop Peter outlined the shape of a cross with his right hand and stepped down from the pulpit.
Finally the exhausting speech was finished and Lucia was thrilled she would soon be home and away from these heathens. She rose from her seat and made her way down the aisle with Vilda and two guards in tow. Just as she passed the couple to her left, the woman spoke to her.
“Hello and welcome to church, Your Highness. I have not seen you here before. I am Unni and this is my husband Brander,” she said and curtsied deeply. Brander bowed.
Lucia looked at them both and smiled briefly. She would remember this woman’s insolence, speaking to her so informally. “Ivar, take me home. I have a meeting with my father and Vilda.” She continued down the aisle and headed for the church exit.
Snow fell from the heavens when they stepped outside. “Away,” Lucia said to the driver after she had settled into the sleigh. Her two guards were quick to mount their stallions and ride behind them back to the castle.
“What idiots,” Vilda said. “They think they can approach you like you are a commoner. They have no right to speak to you. You are the daughter of a king!”
“Do not worry yourself, Vilda,” Lucia said. She had not the energy to concern herself further with the couple. She peered over at Vilda and thought her aunt had become even heavier than before. Yesterday, she had overheard the handmaidens say that usually they estimated they needed to use four times as much fabric when they sewed a dress for Vilda than for anyone else, but that this time, even that had not been enough for her ever-expanding body. She muffled a laugh. My poor, fat aunt. Usually, women who were larger were looked up to, but Vilda was just so fat and so ugly that Lucia sometimes could not even stand to look at her.
And what bothered her even more, was that lately, it seemed as though Vilda was trying to take her mother’s place by comforting Lucia. She was not going to allow Vilda into her heart for even a single beat. Vilda was her father’s sister, and she would trust neither of them.
“They did not even acknowledge me!” Vilda’s plump cheeks had turned red from the cold air. “I am the king’s sister. They should at least show me some respect.”
&nbs
p; “You always say that, Vilda,” Lucia said. “Do not worry. When I am queen, I will give you all the respect you deserve.” She smiled at her clever choice of words.
“Praise the gods! That would certainly be a nice change around here.” Vilda blew her nose in her linen handkerchief. “Your father certainly does not give me the respect I deserve.”
“He does not give anyone respect,” Lucia said with more bitterness than she intended. Not even me.
When they arrived at the castle, Lucia and Vilda dined together in the great hall. After that they headed for the strategy room where King Olav and his grand marshal were waiting for them. Shelves filled with books lined two of the walls, and a red and yellow stained-glass window let the afternoon light in, illuminating the opposite, stone wall.
“How was the Christian church service?” King Olav asked as they entered.
Lucia thought she spotted a mischievous smile on her father’s lips. “It was—interesting,” she answered. “Do you know that they believe there is an evil man called the devil who forces humans to do wicked things?” She chuckled. “Who would be so gullible and believe such a thing? Seems like they are looking for someone else to blame for their misdeeds.”
“Hmm,” Olav replied, not seeming to pay attention to what Lucia had to say, only looking down at the map on the table.
“Oh, Olav. I shall never return again,” Vilda said passionately. “Please do not ask me to. You might be wise to get rid of Bishop Peter. He mentioned you in his sermon, declaring you have given into your fears and are leading your people astray with your poverty of mind and poverty of land. He even called you a devil!” Vilda’s voice sounded unusually dramatic, even for her.
Vilda certainly had a way of twisting the truth, Lucia thought.
“Never mind him. I have more important matters to attend,” King Olav said.
Vilda huffed and looked at Lucia as if to say, See?
King Olav sat down around the oval table first. “Vilda, my beloved and trusted sister, come here and have a seat by me,” he said. Lucia and the Grand Marshall also sat down around the table. “Ever since I took on the crown and responsibilities of the Northlandic Kingdom, you have served me and the country with fervor, granting freedom and fairness to all. I, like many others, am grateful for your continued and faithful service.”
“It has been my honor and pleasure, dear Brother, to serve where I am needed. I am always at your, and the Kingdom’s, humble service,” Vilda said. “I respect you and the Kingdom of Bergendal and I would protect it with my life, if needed. But, as I frequently say, there is always room for improvement.” She rose and walked around the table.
King Olav nodded. “Yes, that is what I suspected,” he mumbled. “So, now I will ask something more of you,” he said, his eyes following her where she went.
Vilda’s eyes lit up at the mention of an opportunity for promotion. “I am speechless. More? It is well needed, of course. Anything, Brother, anything at all.”
What is my father trying to accomplish? Lucia did not think her father liked his older sister very much. He always complained about her being too overbearing.
“Vilda, I ask that you take the position as mistress of the Hammersten Fortress,” King Olav said.
Vilda stiffened where she stood, and it was as if the air in the room vanished. She turned to look at Olav and placed her hands on her gigantic hips with a huff. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“I beg your pardon?” King Olav said. “I am giving you greater responsibility—promoting you—and you ask me if I am trying to get rid of you?”
“Hammersten is the northernmost fortress in all of the Northlandic Kingdom and you want to send me there?” Vilda said.
“It is also the most important fortress in the Northlandic Kingdom. If we lose it, we could lose everything in the event we were invaded,” King Olav said.
Vilda folded her arms in front of her chest and huffed. “Who else will be there?”
“All your handmaidens will go with you and you will have the constant protection of my guards. I will compensate you generously,” King Olav said.
“How long do you expect me to be there?” Vilda asked.
“It is only for one year and then Ivar will replace you,” King Olav answered.
Vilda squinted her eyes. “Why not send Ivar there now?”
“He needs to complete another assignment for me here,” King Olav said.
“Which is—?” Vilda prodded.
“Which is none of your concern!” King Olav shouted.
Vilda’s lips scrunched together. “Must I give you my answer now?”
“Have your answer to me by next Sunday,” King Olav said.
Vilda huffed. “Will there be a festival of some sort? An official event in my honor for the people of Bergendal, so they might learn of my new assignment?” she asked.
Lucia thought that a celebration sounded fun. The one thing, and probably the only thing, she did like about her aunt was how she always found ways to celebrate life, or specifically, her own life.
“Do as you please,” Olav replied. “So, is that a yes?”
Vilda nodded and snorted a laugh. “Oh, excuse me,” she said.
“Good. Now go, leave me be,” he said, waving his hand. “I will have you leave within the week.”
Lucia thought her father was being very creative in getting rid of Vilda. But still, something did not seem quite right. Lucia thought Vilda had accepted the assignment too quickly.
Vilda waddled out of the room, panting heavily.
King Olav stood up and looked at two of the guards who loyally served him. “Lucia,” he said. “Come here. I want to teach you a lesson.”
Lucia approached her father. Not another lesson. The thought of it made her arms and legs feel heavy.
“You, come here,” King Olav said, pointing to the guard closest to him.
The guard paraded over.
“Do you consider yourself a loyal individual?” King Olav asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he replied, his face sober, his eyes fixed forward.
“How loyal?” King Olav asked.
“Not even through my own death will I relieve myself of serving and guarding King Olav, ruler of the Northlandic Kingdom,” he replied, quoting the oath he had committed to when he had been sworn in to service.
“Is that so?” King Olav asked, pacing around him. “What if I killed the guard standing next to you without cause or for entertainment and my own amusement? Would you still serve me loyally?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the guard replied with a nod and with no hesitation in his demeanor.
“And what if I killed your friends?”
The guard’s eyes flinched. “Yes, Your Highness, loyally forevermore,” he said and bowed his head.
King Olav was right in the guard’s face now, glaring him in the eyes. “And what if I killed your family and burned down your family’s farm?”
The guard did not move.
“No? Is that the limit of your loyalty?” King Olav asked, pacing around him again, his hands clasped behind his back. “And what if I did not pay you? Would you lose your loyalty to me then?”
“No,” the guard muttered.
Lucia could see the guard’s forehead starting to bead with sweat.
“Your family—” King Olav said, staring into the guard’s eyes again. “I see how it is. Everyone, leave me be. Lucia, come here.” He walked her across the hallway and into the throne room. Then he ascended the steps and sat down on his throne.
“Father?” she asked, still standing at the bottom of the steps.
“No one remains loyal under all circumstances,” he said. “Trust no man or woman completely, for they will live to fail you. Remember that!”
“Yes, Father,” she said. “But I am sure not everyone—”
“No man or woman!” he repeated, slamming his fist into the armrest.
She jumped, shocked at his sudden angry outburst. “
Not even you?” She smiled. Certainly he cannot be speaking of himself, she thought triumphantly. But when he did not answer, only glared at her as if he despised her, she wondered. Does he not want to answer the question? Has his mind wandered to other thoughts? Can I…not trust him at all?
“Now, go get fitted for your first ceremonial dress,” he finally said with the flick of a wrist. He fell into a pondering mood and let his fingers run through his short beard.
She had not thought her father could hurt her anymore, but the way he nearly admitted she could not trust him felt like a torch to her skin. Cursing herself for allowing this man to wound her yet again, She turned on her heels and left the throne room.
6
Sun Queen