Half a War

The Happiest Day

Skara stared at herself in the mirror.

She remembered doing the same when she first came to Thorlby, a hundred years ago it seemed, after she fled from the burning ruins of her grandfather’s hall. She had hardly recognized the brittle-looking girl in the glass then. She was not sure she knew the sharp-faced woman there now any better. A woman with a proud defiance in her eye, and a ruthless set to her mouth, and a dagger at her jewelled belt she looked more than willing to use.

Skara twisted the armring Bail the Builder had once worn, the red stone winking. She remembered her grandfather giving it to her, thought how proud he would have been to see her now, pictured his smiling face, then flinched at the thought of his body pitching in the firepit, had to swallow the familiar surge of sickness, shut her eyes and try to calm her thumping heart.

She had told herself that when she saw Bright Yilling dead she would be free. She felt her thrall gently arranging the chain of pommels around her neck, the chain the High Queen’s key would soon hang from, and she felt the cold weight of it on her bare shoulders, the weight of things done and choices made.

Instead of banishing the ghosts of Mother Kyre and King Fynn she had added the ghosts of Bright Yilling and his Companions. Instead of freeing herself from the cold touch of his fingertips in the shadows of the Forest she had chained herself further with his death-gripping fist on the fields before Bail’s Point.

Mother Owd had been right. The faster you run from the past, the faster it catches you. All you can do is turn and face it. Embrace it. Try and meet the future stronger for it.

There was a heavy knock at the door, and Skara took a long, sharp breath, and opened her eyes. ‘Come in.’

Blue Jenner was due to take her father’s place in the ceremony, which seemed apt, as he was the closest thing she had to family now. She felt a fresh surge of sickness at the sight of the sacred cloth over his shoulder. The one that would be wrapped around her hand and Gorm’s to bind them together for a lifetime.

The old raider came to stand beside her, his battered features looking doubly battered in the mirror, and slowly shook his head. ‘You look a High Queen indeed. How do you feel?’

‘As if I’m going to puke.’

‘I hear that’s just how a girl’s meant to feel on her wedding day.’

‘Is everything ready?’

If she had been hoping a great flood had swept the guests far out to sea she was disappointed. ‘You never saw the like! Queen Laithlin brought miles of white hangings with her, and the Hall of Whispers is all garlanded with autumn flowers and carpeted with autumn leaves. The statue of the One God lost its head and’ll soon lose its body and the Tall Gods back in charge where they belong. Say what you will about Grandfather Yarvi, he’s a man who gets things done.’

Skara puffed out her cheeks. ‘Grandfather Yarvi, now.’

‘Lot of people climbed up a way lately.’

‘Climbed up a hill of corpses.’ She adjusted the chain of pommels around her neck, Bright Yilling’s diamond flashing on her breastbone. ‘And none higher than me.’

Jenner was hardly listening. ‘Folk have come from all across the Shattered Sea. From Gettland and Throvenland and Vansterland. From Inglefold and the Lowlands and the Islands. Shends and Banyas and the gods know where some of ’em hale from for I surely don’t. I even saw some emissaries from Catalia, set out to speak to the High King and found there’s a new one since they left.’

‘How is the mood?’

‘There’s many raw wounds still, and always those who tend towards the sour, but mostly folk are happy Mother War’s folding her wings and Father Peace is smiling again. There are plenty who despise Gorm, plenty more who mistrust Yarvi, but the love for you goes a long way.’

‘For me?’

‘Your fame’s spread far and wide! The warrior-queen who fought for her land when there was no one else! The woman who laid Bright Yilling low but gave him succour as he died. Majesty and mercy combined, I heard. Ashenleer come again.’

Skara blinked at herself in the mirror. She remembered no succour between her and Yilling. Only that pouch of papers. She gave an acid burp, pressed her hand to her guts and wondered if Ashenleer had been plagued with fears in the stomach. ‘The truth and the songs rarely sit close together, do they?’ she muttered.

‘Not even in the same hall, but truth-telling isn’t what skalds are hired for.’ There was a pause, and Blue Jenner looked up at her from under his brows. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’

She was very, very far from sure, but she did not need his doubts heaped on her own. ‘I made a deal. I cannot turn back even if I wanted to.’

‘But do you want to? Maybe there are worse men than the Breaker of Swords, but I think I know you, my queen. If you could pick anyone, I doubt he’s the husband you’d choose …’

Skara swallowed. The girl she had been before the flames took her grandfather’s hall might have longed to make a different choice. The girl who had pressed herself tight against Raith in the darkness, too. But she was not a girl any more.

She lifted her chin and regarded her advisor through narrowed eyes. She made herself look sure. ‘Then you do not know me as well as you think, Blue Jenner. Grom-gil-Gorm shall be made High King today. He is the most famed warrior about the Shattered Sea. An alliance between Vansterland and Throvenland will make us strong, and our people strong, and never again will men bring fire to Yaletoft in the night!’ She realized she was shouting, and forced her voice down. Forced her heart to be silent, and spoke with her head. ‘Gorm is the husband I would choose. The husband I have chosen.’

Blue Jenner looked down at his boots. ‘I never meant to doubt you-’

‘I know what you meant.’ Skara put her hand gently on his shoulder, and his eyes came up to hers, a little dewy. ‘You stood for me when no one else did, and I know you still stand for me. I pray you always will. But this is my duty. I will not turn from it.’ She could not. However much it hurt.

Blue Jenner gave that gap-toothed smile she had come to love, his weathered face filling with happy creases. ‘Then let’s get you married.’

They both turned as the door banged open. Mother Owd stood staring, her new robe too long and somewhat tangled with her feet, her chest heaving and a sheen of sweat on her pale forehead. One needed no great mind to see she was weighed down by heavy news.

‘Out with it,’ snapped Skara, sick tickling at the back of her throat.

‘My queen …’ Mother Owd swallowed, eyes round in her round face. ‘Grom-gil-Gorm is dead.’