The City Darkens (Raud Grima Book 1) Read online

  The City Darkens

  By Sophia Martin

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2013 Sophia Martin

  2nd edition, 2015.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements

  I am indebted to the good people at AbsoluteWrite for answering a ridiculous number of questions—without their expertise many details herein would have been erroneous or lacking. Any mistakes that remain are mine entirely.

  I would also like to thank my husband for his hours of proof-reading, and Kathryn Beerbaum for her invaluable feedback.

  Table of Contents

  Part 1: Myadar’s Snare

  Part 2: Myadar’s Betrayal

  Part 3: Myadar’s Flight

  Part 4: Myadar’s Summons

  Part 5: Myadar’s Mask

  Part 6: Myadar’s Revolution

  Part 1: Myadar’s Snare

  A sleek black sedan rolled into the courtyard. I was playing in the barn loft with my five-year-old son, Bersi, when I heard the dogs in an uproar and spotted it through the open window. It was a new car—the edges rounded, unlike the angular, boxy look of our own ten year old vehicle, parked at the other end of the barn below.

  A visitor.

  I turned my gaze from the sight of the car to Bersi. We were both covered in straw and I brushed him off roughly. Bersi frowned at me, squinting his dark blue eyes in disapproval.

  “We have company, Bersi,” I told him. He turned to the window.

  “Look at the car!” he cried. Despite little exposure to them, Bersi loved cars. His father brought him a picture book full of them the last time he visited and Bersi would spend hours poring over it.

  “Yes, we’d better go and see who it is,” I said, starting down the ladder first and waving my hand quickly at him to follow. He trotted over and without delay we both had our feet on the floor of the barn.

  I took his hand and hurried out into the courtyard. Perna, the housemaid, was already there, wringing her hands in her apron, eyes darting from me to the automobile, which had now come to a halt. Because of the car’s tinted windows, I could not see who sat inside. Bersi pulled against my hand, trying to get closer to it. “Mama, I want to see!”

  As the driver’s door opened, my groundskeeper, Gasi, turned the corner of the manor house, driving the geese ahead of him. He stopped short at the sight of the car and the geese scattered, adding their honking to the dogs’ frenzied barking.

  A figure dressed in a black suit as sleek as the sedan emerged from the driver’s seat—he wore dark glasses and a chauffeur’s cap, and the sun made the gold of his face shine. I bit my lip—somehow I’d assumed the driver himself would be our visitor. The fact he was a robot chauffeur meant our visitor was someone extremely wealthy. I peered down at the dingy brown overalls I wore; I’d been working in the loft sorting out bales of hay before Bersi came and distracted me with a game of hide and seek. I looked a fright, no doubt. But there was no help for it. It was greet the personage like this or disappear entirely.

  Gasi shooed the dogs and geese back as the chauffeur walked round to the other side of the car and pulled open the door, standing up stiff and straight as a post. I squinted at him. He was a fancy robot, gilded or perhaps even gold-plated. Someone from Helésey, then—the capital of Ódalnord—the city on an island. Could it be my husband, Reister? But I didn’t know this car.

  A woman emerged. She wore a tight-fitting tan cloche on her head, adorned with a large spray of spotted feathers. A creamy scarf puffed around her neck. Her ample coat was taupe velvet but it ended with a band of thick chocolate fur at her calves, and I was surprised to see that the chocolate wool skirt that hung beneath it was both narrow and uncommonly short, stopping above her ankle. After a moment, I recognized her. Reister’s mother, Jarldis Tora Sölbói. I had only met her once before—nearly ten years ago, on my wedding day. And here she was now, unannounced, seeing me in all my dusty glory. I glanced down at Bersi as my free hand went to my hair. He wasn’t pulling anymore—he looked as stunned as I felt, staring at the lady he had no idea was his grandmother. I fiddled with one of the pins I’d hastily put in my hair this morning, tucking a loose strand into it.

  Jarldis Sölbói looked from Gasi and the chaos of geese and dogs, to Perna, clinging to her apron, to Bersi and me. Her brow furrowed.

  “The jarldis, Tora Sölbói,” the chauffeur announced.

  “Where is Jarldis Myadar Sölbói?” the lady asked, gripping a brown satin clutch to her chest, her steely blue eyes sliding from me, to Perna, to Gasi.

  “Pardon me, Jarldis Sölbói,” I said, stepping forward awkwardly, for Bersi was standing in the way and I had to move around him. “I am Jarldis Sölbói-ungr.” As the suffix—meaning “younger”—crossed my lips, I saw her eyes narrow. My free hand flew to my mouth. But surely she couldn’t object to the distinction? Without a suffix how would anyone know which of us someone was referring to? She couldn’t possibly prefer that I call her Jarldis Sölbói-ald, could she?

  The lady pried open her clutch and fished out a small pair of spectacles. The rims glinted gold in the early afternoon sun. She perched the spectacles on the bridge of her nose and made her way towards me, peering at me intensely. When she was just a few feet away, she stopped.

  “Is that straw in your hair?” she asked.

  I dropped Bersi’s hand as both of mine flew to my head. Bersi whimpered and turned, clutching my legs. I forgot the straw and put my hands on his shoulders, stroking them.

  Jarldis Sölbói’s cold gaze rested for the first time on her grandson. “And this is Bersimund, I am to understand? Why isn’t he away at school?”

  My throat tightened and my heartbeat sped up. My hands stroked Bersi’s shoulders a little faster. “He’s only five,” I said.

  “Hmph,” Jarldis Sölbói snorted. She turned away from me and surveyed the courtyard and the manor house. “At least the estate seems well enough. Except for that infernal racket. How many dogs do you have, Jarldis Sölbói? And why are there geese everywhere?”

  “Oh, begging your pardon, Jarldis Sölbói,” Gasi said to her. Then he glanced at me and wiped his forehead with his kerchief. Exactly what I was afraid of—no one knew what to call us to make the distinction. “The geese got out of their pen this morning. I’ve had a time of it rounding them up, you see, and now with the car and the dogs they’ve gone and scattered again—”

  Jarldis Sölbói narrowed her eyes again and cast a scowl my way. “Is it the habit of your servants to address their betters so freely, Jarldis Sölbói?”

  “Please, Jarldis Sölbói, call me Myadar—or Mya, really, it’s easier,” I said. “Please, won’t you come inside? Perna, we’ll need a tray, of course. See what you can get us for cakes—maybe Arinn made some this morning?” Perna disappeared into the house and I took Bersi’s hand again. “Come along, dearest,” I whispered to him. “We’ll show the jarldis the parlor, shall we?”

  Bersi looked up at me, his dark blue eyes huge, and then at Jarldis Sölbói. His brow furrowed, but he didn’t voice his thoughts, for which I was grateful. I knew well enough from his expression that he didn’t like her. He gave the car one last longing look before turning and walking with me up the manor house stairs. Jarldis Sölbói fell in step beside us.

  ~~~

  “Your visit takes us by surprise, Jarldis Sölbói,” I said, then sipped some tea. I sent silent thanks to Perna for choosing the best porcelain tea set. It was sky blue and none of the cups
or saucers had chips, which I could not have said for the other sets.

  “So I gathered,” Jarldis Sölbói replied, eyeing my hair again.

  My hand drifted to it, and my fingers found a blade of hay. I pulled it free and crumpled it into my hand.

  “Mama, why do you call her ‘jarldis’?” Bersi asked in his bright voice. My cheeks flushed hot. “You’re the jarldis.”

  “Bersi, ‘jarldis’ is an honorific,” I said softly. “It’s a title for some women.”

  “Then why don’t you call Perna jarldis?”

  “Because she isn’t one, dearest,” I said. “Perna works for us.”

  Jarldis Sölbói watched this exchange with her lips tightly sealed. Disapproval radiated from her.

  “Can I go play with Gasi and the geese?” he asked.

  “May I, dearest.”

  “May I, Mama?”

  “Yes, I think that’s a fine idea.”

  Bersi had to be feeling especially uncomfortable to give up the plate of tarts Perna had brought on the tray with the tea. It was a relief to me when he left, however. Whatever Jarldis Sölbói wanted to accomplish with this visit, clearly getting to know her grandson was not a part of it.

  “More tea, Jarldis Sölbói?” I offered after Bersi left.

  She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “If I am to call you Myadar, then you must call me Mother Tora,” she said without an ounce of warmth.

  My own mother died when I was a child, and I’d never wanted to call anyone else mother. I was beginning to weary of this awkwardness, this feeling of imbalance, and for a moment, I considered refusing. But it was a small thing, and perhaps it would be a step towards a friendship between Reister’s mother and I. “Very well, Mother Tora,” I said and smiled. “So, please tell me: what brings you here to Söllund?”

  “Reister sent me to fetch you, of course. Didn’t you get his telegram?”

  For a moment, I couldn’t speak. I closed my eyes. A panicky hum grew in my mind at the sound of her words.. “I’m sorry, Jarl—Mother Tora. I don’t understand. What telegram?” With effort, I opened my eyes again and focused on her.

  “Impossible!” she exclaimed, her cup clattering in its dish. “I told him years ago to have a telephone installed here. He never listens. And did he even send the telegram? I suppose not! And I suppose you haven’t even packed?”

  “Mother Tora, as I said, your arrival here came as a complete surprise—”

  “Fantastic!” she spat. “We’ll be delayed. Well, it can’t be for more than a few hours. We’ve got to be back in time for the coronation, and that’s tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Coronation?”

  Jarldis Sölbói frowned at me. “Yes, of course.” My face must have shown my bewilderment. “Come now, Myadar. You can’t possibly be so disconnected.”

  I said nothing. Perhaps waiting would draw the explanation out.

  She set the cup and saucer down in front of her and crossed her arms, scowling at me. “You’re not serious.”

  “Mother Tora, I do apologize. We get the news so late here, when we get it at all.”

  “Nes-Konunger is dead, Myadar. He died almost ten days ago. The nation is in mourning! And you haven’t even heard?”

  I shook my head slowly. Then the faint memory of overhearing several women in the village talking—it was market day and there was such a crowd. Yes, they had been discussing the konunger. His health. He was ill. That was at least a month ago. “Who is to be crowned the new konunger, then?” I asked.

  Her eyes flashed. “His son, obviously, Jöfur Eiflar. Well, Jöfur no longer, as of tomorrow. As of tomorrow, he will be Eiflar-Konunger, won’t he?”

  She sounded especially displeased by this fact, but it was hard to be sure, since her tone had hardly wavered from displeased since her arrival.

  “That’s why I’m here, don’t you see?” she continued. “Reister sent me to fetch you because he believes you won’t have anything to wear to the coronation. Well, he seems to think you’ll have nothing suitable for court at all.”

  I clenched my jaw. So Reister disapproved of my wardrobe, did he? How could he possibly be so sure about it, anyway, when I saw him perhaps once every two years?

  “I have plenty of perfectly good clothes,” I said. I set down my cup and saucer. “I suppose there’s nothing for it, I’ll have to pack them as quick as I can. And Bersi’s, too. But never fear, Mother Tora, we’ll be ready to go in an hour.”

  Jarldis Sölbói made a scoffing sound. “Impossible.”

  I blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “If you haven’t even heard the news of the konunger’s death, how can you possibly claim to have anything fashionable to wear? When was the last time you bought new clothes?” She shook her head, not waiting for my response before she continued, “And look at your hair! It will never do!”

  “With all due respect, Mother Tora, it’s just a few bits of straw. I’m perfectly capable of coiffing myself properly. I just don’t do so on an ordinary day when I’ll be working around the estate.”

  “Working around the estate?” she echoed, her hand burying itself in her scarf. Her face actually looked a shade paler. “No wonder Reister sent me instead of simply summoning you. I told him choosing to wed an Asterlunder would be a mistake. And now I discover you’ve been behaving like a servant—”

  My temper flared. “I suppose I was meant to sit in the parlor and entertain the local vigjas or spend my days embroidering, instead? This estate doesn’t run itself. I’ve done what’s necessary to keep it in good condition—”

  She waved a hand at me. “Be that as it may, my dear, your days as a farmhand have come to an end. Reister doesn’t just want you to come for the coronation. He wants you to join him at court permanently. The manor house is to be shut up, the servants dismissed, except for the concierge and any family he has.”

  I stared at her.

  “And we’ll make arrangements for Bersimund to go to school as soon as possible. I suppose he might as well see the coronation—it wouldn’t do for him to miss it anyway. So many of the courtiers have summoned their children home for it, no one will think anything of it if he’s there.”

  I gripped the ends of my chair’s armrests, willing my voice to remain steady and polite. “That is out of the question,” I said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Myadar. It will be a grand experience for him to see Eiflar crowned.”

  “That’s not what I’m referring to. You will not arrange for Bersi to go to school. He is five years old. He is far too young to be apart from his mother.”

  “Nonsense. I sent Reister away at the age of four.”

  And look how he turned out, I thought viciously. “Nevertheless,” I said. “It’s out of the question. Bersi stays with me, or neither of us goes.”

  “You aren’t suggesting that you’ll stay behind? Here? And leave Reister to stand in the court without his wife at his side for the coronation? What do you propose we’d tell people? My dear Myadar, you’ve obviously been living far too removed a life. It’s unthinkable.”

  “Then I’m glad we can agree. I will join Reister at court, but Bersi stays with me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Even after the coronation? You can’t be serious. He’ll be the only child there. We can’t have him getting under foot. Court is no place for a child.”

  “Then we’ll come for the coronation but return home right away,” I said. The desire for this end welled up within me, but I tried to keep my face neutral. I had no wish to live at court. No wish to engage in the petty politics I’d heard rumors of, or to participate in the grand parties where they would expect polished manners I had little familiarity with. I grew up in the eastern countryside, and my father arranged my marriage to Jarl Reister Sölbói, which meant moving to Söllund, the southernmost county in the nation. That had been hard enough. Reister spent little time with me—barely enough to conceive Bersi, in fact. But over the years I’d become mistress of the estate.
Caring for Bersi, the manor house and its surrounding lands was my life, and I loved it. I had no wish to move to the island metropolis.

  “Hmph,” was Mother Tora’s only response. She leaned back in her chair and eyed me, one eyebrow raised. I sat straight and held her stare. I would not look down, or away. I wanted her to know I would not be bullied. No one would take Bersi from me. I didn’t care if every courtier in Helésey sent their babies away for tutoring as soon as they were born. I would not be parted from my son.

  “Well,” she said at last. “I can’t force you to see reason. But we’ll see what Reister has to say about all of this once we’re there.”

  ~~~

  The drive took six hours, and it was awful, except for how thrilled Bersi was to be riding in the car. He touched the chrome trim and door handles reverently, stared out the windows and jostled me trying to see into the front through the glass partition. Eventually he fell asleep on my lap, looking angelic as he always did when he slept. Mother Tora glowered at him throughout, but Bersi must have decided not to pay any attention to her anymore.

  The sedan stopped at a harbor, where Mother Tora announced that she had a chartered yacht waiting. I usually hated to wake Bersi but I knew a boat would more than make up for it. I was right. He was mesmerized, looking with eyes like saucers at the sleek ship, and then at the robot chauffeur as it unloaded the baggage from the car. So much to take in—the luxury sedan, the robot, the yacht—Bersi was speechless and slightly flushed. His fascination was my only comfort. I already missed home, and each mile closer to the Helésey Island increased my dread. What sort of reception would Reister give me? Would he try to force me to stay at court? Luka’s chains, why? It had been nearly ten years since we wed and he’d never shown the slightest interest in having me at his side. After the initial bewilderment, I’d grown accustomed to the idea that he only really wanted a caretaker for his estate, perhaps a mother to an heir, at most. It was a life I had accepted, and grown to love. Why change everything now? Because of the new konunger? What difference could he possibly make?