The heady scent of blood permeated the air, the sound of metal clanging against metal interspersed with shouts. Helma stood in the center of the room, sword held aloft and her body moving with elegant savagery as she cut down her foes.
My móðir laid on the floor, her crimson hair the same shade as the blood seeping out of the gaping wound in her chest. I wanted to go to her, needed to feel the mægen in her skin, but I could not break free of Maitane’s hold as she dragged me from the room.
Darkness surrounded us as the Húsvættir ran with me through the hidden passageway, the sound of pursuing footsteps drawing closer with every second.
Then we were trapped, surrounded within the forest clearing the passage led out into. Tall figures moved through the trees, their lithe bodies obscured by shadows.
One of the shadowy figures leapt towards us, and a sharp crack pierced the air as a whip coiled around the attackers throat, severing their head with a flash of dark magic.
Peering over Maitane’s shoulder, I gazed up at the tall form of Helma as she charged into the clearing, whip held in her left hand, and a sword in her right. My Vörðr spared me only a brief glance when she ran past, revealing her face caked in blood as she intercepted another attacker with her whip.
Shouts, and pained screams filled the air as Maitane broke through the trees, leading me further into the forest and towards the coast, where we would pass through the veil into the human realm.
I awoke covered in cold sweat, my heart pounding as the remnants of memory faded from my mind. The piercing light of day seeping through the gaps in the curtains, and the clock on my bedside table revealing it was early afternoon.
Staring up at the ceiling, I considered attempting to go back to sleep. In Svartálfaheimr, very few would be awake at a time such as this as the Dökkálfar preferred to live their lives under the gaze of the moon.
A gentle knock at the door accompanied by Maitane’s request for entry brought an end to my thoughts of sleep, and I sat up with a sigh.
“Enter.”
Pushing open the door, Mai bustled into the room, closely followed by Sorcha with her chest of clothes.
“Blessuð dagr, Smártungl.” Sorcha greeted, her wings fluttering delicately behind her as she dipped into a curtsy.
Seeing the Pixie, I was reminded of what my athair had said the previous night about sending her to be my informant. “Blessuð dagr, Klæða Sorcha.”
A smile played across the autumn haired Pixie’s lips as she rose and moved quickly to the clothing chest. “The high king of the Seelie court has sent many gifts to his beloved garneacht, and hopes that she shall visit him soon.”
“How kind of him,” I murmured, rising from the bed, and heading towards the bathroom.
The high king had acknowledged me as his grandniece, how quaint. Before my athair mentioned it, I hadn’t given much thought to using my connection to the high king, believing it to be more bothersome than useful.
Even Maitane felt the connection wasn’t of any true value, as it would garner me little benefit when dealing with nobles of Svartálfaheimr. Whilst it may help improve relations between the two kingdoms, that wasn’t something I should be paying heed to when my relation Svartálfaheimr itself was so unstable.
When I returned from the bathroom Sorcha helped me into a beautiful red dress which the Pixie altered during the hours I had been sleeping.
“Lady Isabel is already at the enclave overseeing the preparations for your arrival, and Ard Tiarna Cináed has agreed to allow your Skutilsveinr to set up a temporary camp outside the enclave.” The Pixie said as she fluttered around me, making minor adjustments to the gown for a better fit.
“Surely the enclave will not be strained with a mere thirty one Skutilsveinr in residence.” I said.
Sorcha giggled, a light, airy sound that made one want to smile just hearing it. “A second regiment of Skutilsveinr, and other members of your hirð will be arriving in the coming days, which will greatly increase that number. That is not including the servants, and guards brought by the Seelie Ard Tiarna. More will also come with the visiting enclave lords, and any ambassadors.”
“There are also the mounts of your Skutilsveinr to consider,” Mai added. “They cannot reside indoors, nor can they be left unmonitored.”
“Ah, yes, I supposed it would not be wise for the Peryton to hunt the residents of New York.” I said, inclining my head. Perhaps it would be better to send some of the Peryton to reside somewhere else temporarily. The predatory winged deer weren’t made for city living, and there was a lack of prey for them to hunt. Then again, there was a rather large harpy population that needed culling.
Behind me, Mai tutted her tongue in annoyance as she gathered up a brush to begin styling my hair. “Let us hope the Skutilsveinr protecting you are more skilled than the last ones your faðir sent.”
“Helma,” I called out, knowing the Víðarr would not be far from my side.
The shadows in the corner of the room grew dark, condensing into the tall, slender form of my protector. Helma’s gaze met mine in the mirror, her eyes conveying a silent question.
“What are your thoughts on the ability of the Skutilsveinr who will serve me?” I asked, not breaking eye contact with the woman as she moved closer to where I sat in front of the vanity.
“Adequate.”
“Compared to you?” I questioned, lips twitching at the woman’s one word response.
“Yes,” Helma nodded, her face impassive.
“How would you assess Maitane?” I asked, curious how the Víðarr would grade my caretaker.
“Indeterminable.”
I choked back a laugh as Mai’s hands stilled in my hair, the wrinkles on her face deepening as she smiled at the reflection of Víðarr.
“Then will you entertain me with a duel?” I asked, though I suspected Maitane would be the victor as the Húsvættir had over three hundred cycles of experience.
The Vættir did not count their age in years, but in cycles. With a cycle being ten years long, that put Mai’s age well above my Víðarr who was in her fortieth cycle. In comparison, I was a mere babe on the cusp of my tenth cycle, and soon to be of age in the eyes of the Álfar.
“I am old, tis time for the young ones to have their victories.” The Húsvættir said, her fingers tugging at my hair no longer as gentle as they had been previously.
“Very well,” I conceded before shifting my attention back to Helma. “Let us arrange a demonstrative duel with the Skutilsveinr so they can demonstrate their skill, and soothe Maitane’s worries.”
“Amongst ourselves, or against the Seelie?” The Víðarr asked, a faint glimmer of interest showing in her expression.
“You may invite the guards accompanying the Ard Tiarna to participate.” I said, pondering if the enclaves guardians should also be invited despite their obvious difference in strength.
“As you wish, my moon.” Helma bowed her head before returning to the corner of the room, her form blending into the shadows.
“My moon, shall I assist with your make-up?” Sorcha asked, holding up a beautiful hand carved wooden box that featured a floral pattern. “The high king has sent many high quality cosmetics that are currently popular with the Seelie noblewomen.”
I raised a brow at her in the mirror. “They’ve been tested?”
Sorcha nodded with a smile. “Everything received has been thrice checked, and passed inspection.”
I shifted my gaze to Mai, who tilted her chin in confirmation of the Pixies words. “You may assist.”
As Sorcha began applying a light layer of make-up, she once more began speaking in soft tones, informing me that she received a report about Lady Dagmar of Markaðshöfn.
Neither Dagmar, nor her móðir were active socially, and so far it appeared they were not well treated. The Jarl’s servants described the first dóttir of the house as a meek, and sickly girl, who rarely left her rooms.
“Contrary to their report, other sources have discovered she is in excellent health, and often sneaks out of the estate. We are yet to fully determine what she does when out, but we believe she has been working on the streets running a series of gambling schemes to make coin.”
“Mm,” I hummed softly as Sorcha finished speaking. Based on the report, it seemed she was using the guise of being sickly to avoid being seen as a threat. The gambling schemes, if they were profitable, also indicated she quite was intelligent.
“What are your thoughts?” I asked the Pixie, curious as to what the Njósn might say regarding my potential hefðarkona.
“If managed appropriately, she could be an asset.” Sorcha said, as she tilted her head, and examined her handiwork. “She is very attached to her móðir, and may refuse you, as it would endanger Lady Rosheen who would be left behind in the house. The lady is at the bottom of the ranking when compared to the other concubines, and both are looked down upon for their Seelie heritage. Lady Rosheen came into the Hirð due to the conception of her dóttir during a dalliance, and has not conceived any additional children in her time as a concubine.”
I pondered that, listening to Sorcha report on each of the concubines in Jarl Ívarr’s Hirð, and from where they originated from.
Typically, a noble hirð only had four concubines, and a main spouse. However, with Jarl Ívarr’s house, his wife Jarlkona Norell had brought in four of her own concubines, which was an unusual occurrence. Normally only the dominant partner in a marriage claimed concubines, as the leader of the hirð. Then again, before their marriage, Princess Norell had outranked her husband, so it could potentially be seen that she was the dominant marriage partner. However, if that were the case, there should still only have four concubines within the hirð.
You are reading story The Myrkálfar Moon at novel35.com
The Dökkálfar were a promiscuous race, and while some did find happiness in a monogamous relationship it was rare. Usually after dominant coupling formed, they would seek out concubines together, ensuring the compatibility of those being brought in to create a cohesive hirð.
In addition to that, the number of concubines, or official lovers one could have, related to the rank of the dominant lover, which was reflected in the antlers, the Dökkálfar wore.
At the top of the hierarchy was the monarch, who wore antlers with five prongs on either side, each of similar length. The front right prong represented the wearer, with the left their spouse, and those behind for concubines. This meant the monarch could have eight concubines and a main spouse.
Following the monarch the direct heir wore antlers with four prongs, and could have six concubines alongside their spouse. While the nobles wore antlers with three prongs, and lastly the commoners adorned themselves with two pronged antlers, allowing them four, and two concubines respectively.
“Jarl Ívarr’s hirð houses eight concubines.” I muttered, tapping a finger on the table. Even if four belonged to Norell, the concubines were still housed in the Jarl’s hirð, and only the monarch was permitted to have so many concubines. “Does he think his hirð comparable to that of a Great Moon?”
“I cannot see Jarlkona Norell being willing to give up her lovers,” Maitane said, her lips curling upwards into a smile. “With her purest beliefs, she would sooner toss out the Seelie concubine, and her Myrkálfar dóttir.”
“I am curious as to why faðir has neglected this matter,” I said, glancing at Sorcha. “It is an insult to him.”
“The last two concubines have only recently joined the hirð, and the Ríkrtungl has been occupied with repairing the damage the traitors wrought upon his court. There were many deaths the night you were lost, Smártungl. Dozens of officials needed to be replaced, and power struggles have ensued over the many positions left vacant.” The Pixie answered. “There have also been issues with the Ljósálfar.”
My brows shot upwards, and I sat straighter on the bench seat. “The Ljósálfar? Is there an issue with our alliance with Álfheimr?”
Sorcha nodded with a sigh. “The execution of Lady Anđela caused several problems, the most notable being a trade embargo between Svartálfaheimr, and Álfheimr.”
He executed her? When faðir said he dealt with the two traitorous concubines, I thought he meant they had been sent away, not executed. Many concubines my faðir brought into his hirð were nobility of our allied kingdoms, the most prominent being Lady Anđela, the dóttir of an influential hertogi in Álfheimr.
The hertogi, similar to the Ard Tiarna of the Fae, were the lords of large territories within a kingdom. These territories, known as hertogadømi were often divided under the rule of lesser nobles who swore fealty to the hertogi, and to the throne. Hertogi Enyon was also faðir to the Ástugrsunna, the beloved sun of Álfheimr, which put the man in a strong position among the Ljósálfar.
“Is Svartálfaheimr suffering a Caffar shortage?” Mai asked, her voice carrying a note of worry.
I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. The fiefdom overseen by Hertogi Enyon produced many products, in particular one called Caffar, a bitter tasting brown nut that grew primarily in Álfheimr. When brewed correctly, Caffar tasted similar to the coffee which many humans consumed, although with a much higher potency.
“There has been a very steep price increase,” Sorcha informed the Húsvættir with a sigh. “Only the most prominent hirð can afford to purchase it, and it has become a sign of great wealth to serve Caffar to one's guests.”
Moons above, what had faðir been thinking? When I was younger, every household in Svartálfaheimr consumed Caffar daily! It was a staple beverage! Why did he not simply send the concubine home in shame, and demanded compensation from the hertogi?
“Why was Lady Anđela executed, and not exiled in shame?” I asked, faðir wasn’t a fool, he must've had a reason for sentencing the concubine to death.
“Lady Anđela was charged with high treason after several of her Skutilsveinr and her Víðarr were found among the dead within the Smártungl palace. The Víðarr of Lady Anđela was the one to kill Concubine Luciana, and take the eye of Víðarr Helma before his death at her hands.” Sorcha answered, her voice soft. “Officially, Lady Anđela, and Lady Røskva were named as co-conspirators who perpetrated the events of that night.”
I lowered my eyes from the vanity mirror, taking a moment to compose myself before speaking. “Lady Røskva’s part?”
“Your antlered headpiece was found in her possession.” The Pixie said, giving a slight shrug. “No one truly believes she played a part in that night, if she did it would have been the height of idiocy to hide your antlers in her rooms.”
“Maitane discarded my antlers in the forest, as wearing them was a clear indication of identity.” I sighed, reaching up to touch the side of my head. “Røskva mostly kept to herself from what I can remember, she didn’t act against móðir, or the others. Was she also executed?”
“Lady Røskva was dismissed from the royal hirð, and returned to her family's lands. I believe she has now wed a prominent Skutilsveinr from her home.”
The tension in my body loosened at those words from Sorcha, and I let out a small sigh. I was glad my faðir had restraint enough not to kill her as well. It was obvious someone had planted my antlers in Lady Røskva’s rooms, only a fool would have kept something belonging to the missing Smártungl. Though, it begged the question as to who had found my antlers in the forest, and put them in the concubine’s rooms.
Would Norell have bothered with such a thing? Doubtful, she wouldn’t have been so foolish as to think anyone would believe such an obvious set up. Lady Anđela, perhaps? One of the other concubines who thought to use the events of that night to dispose of one of their competitors? Røskva may have been quiet and unassuming, but she did conceive a child three cycles before my móðir did, although the pregnancy did not reach full term. There may have been some who feared she might conceive again.
“How is the king intending to resolve the trade embargo?” Maitane asked, her sharp tone bringing me out of my musings.
“He is funding several lords who have planted their own Caffar trees,” Sorcha began, only to be cut off when Mai let out a snort of disgust.
“It takes ten cycles for a Caffar tree to mature, and our lands are not suitable for growing them! Why has that foolish boy not found another supply?” The Húsvættir seethed.
“Calm yourself, Mai,” I soothed, turning to smile placatingly at the woman who, like many, was an avid consumer of the bitter beverage. “Let us move back to the subject at hand, and address the Caffar issue with faðir at a later time.”
The Húsvættir gave an unhappy huff, but acquiesced.
“Do I have faðir to deal with the issue of Jarl Ívarr’s extra concubines now, or make contact with Lady Dagmar first, and offer to free her móðir in exchange for her serving me as hefðarkona?” I asked, glancing around at the occupants of the room, seeking their thoughts on the matter.
Mai hummed thoughtfully as she motioned for me to stand. “If Lady Dagmar is playing the role of a frail, and sickly lady, her perceived ill health could be used as a reason for denying your request.”
“The fall in status, and shame of dismissal could also provoke a desire for revenge in the Lady Dagmar. Even if her status within the Jarl’s hirð is low, she is still the first dóttir. In the Seelie lands, she will suffer even more prejudice for her Dökkálfar heritage, and the shame of being set aside.” Sorcha added, as she fluttered around me, adjusting the skirt of my dress. “Let her suffer a fall, before lifting her up.”
I nodded, taking a moment to check my reflection in the mirror. The dress was a deep red with full length lace sleeves that covered the backs of my hands, and encircled my middle finger. More lace decorated the hem of the dress, creating a fluttering ruffled skirt that danced around my feet.
“We shall have to seek out leipreachán soon,” Sorcha sighed as she looked at the black stiletto heels I wore. “The poor workmanship of this human-made footwear is affecting the quality of my gowns.”
“There is a leipreachán who likes to hang out in a pub called McSorley's Old Ale House,” I smiled down at the Pixie who’s expression brightened at the mention of the leipreachán. “He’s a drunkard who many from the enclave have sought, but all have been refused.”
As a race famed for their skill as cobblers, the shoes crafted by the leipreachán were highly sought after throughout Níu Heimar. However, gaining the services of one was a difficult task, as the race were prideful, and quite arrogant with their work.
“A leipreachán in Manna-heim?” Sorcha asked, her wings fluttering behind her as though she were ready to take off in search of the leipreachán at any moment. “Why have you not had shoes made, and why is he here, of all places?”
“He refused when Maitane first visited him, and I assume he is hiding from someone,” I said with a shrug. “Same reason most people come here. New York is a hotspot for vættir looking to hide away. The enclave’s guardians are weak, and either can’t sense them, or aren’t strong enough to catch them. Take the Harpies, for example, they’ve infested the city so badly they’re now almost impossible to exterminate.”
“Ah, so that is what Æsa was eating this morn, it was chewed up so badly we could not determine its original form.” Helma said from the corner of the room, her words causing me to turn quickly to face where she stood.
“Æsa? My Æsa?”
In reply to my question, the shadows hiding the Vörðr’s form grew darker, condensing into a large bestial form. Despite being shaped like a dog, the creature held only a faint resemblance to the canines of Manna-Heim. Descended from the famed wolf Hróðvitnir, which had bred with a common gwyllgi, the Garmr were the pride of the Dökkálfar race, and their most treasured companions.
The Garmr was a muscular creature with a coat that appeared to draw the shadows in around it, and a maw full of sharp teeth that was pulled into a permanent snarl. It’s eyes were burning embers in a sea of black, that gazed into a persons inner being with a fierceness that struck fear into the hearts of those it hunted.
Wisps of darkness danced around the Garmr’s paws as it stepped out of Helma's shadow, its blazing eyes staring into my own. I smiled, my heart thudding in my chest as I held out a hand for the Garmr to scent. Æsa did not need to sniff my proffered hand to scent me, as the creatures were able to scent prey for miles, but it was a gesture used to show friendship to the Garmr.
Æsa pressed her snout into my palm, snuffling her wet nose against my skin.
“You’ve gotten so big.” I murmured, stroking my fingers over the Garmr’s muzzle. She’d been a puppy, recently presented to me as an early ninth cycle gift when I left Svartálfaheimr. Did she even remember me?
“My moon, please don’t let it drool on your dress!” Sorcha complained, her eyes locking onto the thick drool dripping from the canine’s maw.
I smiled, withdrawing my hand from Æsa’s head, and holding it out for Mai to wipe clean with a handkerchief. “I am glad she survived that night. Thank you for caring for her, Helma.”
“She is yours, as am I.” The Víðarr said, a hand pressed to her chest. “She has received the same training as all royal Garmr. Æsa has participated in many hunts, and is well blooded.”
Focusing on the Garmr, I stared down into the bright eyes, and gestured towards my shadow.
“Verndaðu skuggana.” I said, ordering the Garmr into my shadow with the command phrase “protect the shadows”. It mattered not who ordered the Garmr, if they were not recognized as its master the beast would not listen to a word they said regardless if the command was the correct one.
Æsa blinked once, then twice, before she stepped forwards and disappeared from sight as her body descended into the shadow cast by my body. The Garmr’s mægen brushed over my own, entwining with the darkness, and tethering itself to my shadow.
Releasing the breath I had been holding, I straightened my posture, looking at the three women who stood watching me. “Are we departing to the enclave immediately, or do I have time to eat something first?”
Mai gestured towards the door. “No eating, there is to be a feast tonight.”
I nodded, saying a silent apology to my stomach which was grumbling in protest at the Húsvættir’s words. It would seem food would not be coming anytime soon, as it was still another four hours until dusk, and from what I knew of the Seelie, it would be a dreary four hours of formalities, and courtly butt kissing.