Page 140 of North Is the Night
Goblets rattle and fists pound the tables as everyone cheers. But as I gaze out upon the glittering assemblage, I see more than one unsmiling face. I may not be fully accepted, even now.
In moments, the music crescendos and all our guests resume their feasting. I let go of Tuoni’s hand as dead servants come bustling up the dais, balancing a wooden table. They place it before us. I hardly have time to blink before more servants have piled the table with candles and golden plates, jeweled goblets for wine, polished wooden bowls for stew. Then the food arrives—roasted duck, a haunch of pork, blood sausages, root vegetables mashed with butter, wild mushroom stuffing seasoned with pepper and thyme, lingonberry tarts.
But I can’t eat a thing. I’m too anxious. I still feel half the eyes of the room on me. Loviatar’s warning sits fresh in my mind. They’re all looking for weaknesses, waiting for me to make a mistake. I lift my goblet and an attendant rushes forward to fill it. I take a sip of the sweet wine, but even that makes my stomach churn.
“You should eat something,” Loviatar mutters. “It will help.”
“It won’t help when I lose my meal all over this table.” Regardless, I transfer a few of the delicacies to my plate. “This is no magic trick? They’re all really here?”
“Yes.”
“Where did they come from?”
“From the realm of the living,” she replies. “A few are from our realm. Father likes to entertain. Now that he has regained his throne, you can expect many more feasts.”
I set my wine aside. Not for the first time, I’ve had to work to reconcile these different versions of Tuonela in my mind. There was the Witch Queen’s version, where every waking moment threatened pain and death. Then there is Tuoni’s Tuonela. It’s clear he’s trying to make me fall in love with his realm as much as with him. He wants me to be happy here. He banishes the darkness with firelight. He fills his hall with laughter and music and glittering gods. Why would a woodworker’s daughter go back to her simple life on the lakeshore when she could be a queen?
I offer him a nervous smile. He takes my hand and brushes his lips against my knuckles, gaze drifting up my face to my crown. The look he gives me is enough to melt me inside. Damn him, but he’s playing this game to win.
A flash in the corner catches my attention. I turn to see a woman flick a long sheet of white-blonde hair over her shoulder. It almost seems to glow in the candlelight. The woman turns fully, and I stifle my gasp. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen: fair brows and wide, dark eyes, soft lips stretched into a smile.
“Who is that?” I whisper.
Loviatar sniffs, setting aside her wine. “I’m sure you don’t mean to always be so insensitive...”
I blush, realizing my mistake. “She’s beautiful,” I explain, and try to find the right words to conjure her appearance. “Her hair glows with the light of a star—”
“Say no more.” The witch frowns in annoyance. “She is Kuutar.”
Kuutar, goddess of the moon. I sigh, taking in the glistening gold of her dress. In all my mother’s stories, Kuutar sits at her wheel, spinning golden thread from the light of the moon. The goddess notices my attention. She inclines her head, offering me a smile.
“Oh gods,” I gasp, looking down at my plate. “She noticed me looking.”
“You’re an oddity,” Loviatar mutters. “You can be sure they’re all looking.”
“Loviatar,” I hiss. “She’sstilllooking.”
“She cannot approach you,” she replies, amused by my discomfort. “You’re a queen. She is not.”
“She isKuutar.”
“And you are Ainatar, Queen of Tuonela. You outrank her. In this room, in this realm, you outrank everyone. If you want the little fool’s attention, beckon her forward.”
There’s clearly no love lost between the goddesses, but I am not a goddess. “I can’t beckon her to me,” I say, aghast. “I’d die of embarrassment to say I called the moon goddess to me like a dog.”
“Then acknowledge her and turn away.”
I do as the witch says. Kuutar looks a little crestfallen, her smile faltering, but with a flick of her long hair, she turns her attention to the handsome man sitting to her left.
Over the rest of the meal, I let my gaze wander the room, trying to guess my guests’ identities. It makes me miss Siiri all over again. What a game she would make of it. She’d have no problem calling Kuutar forward with a wave of her hand or challenging Ahti to an arm wrestling match.
“Something amuses you,” Loviatar says at my side.
I turn, curious to see if the witch will play my game. Before I can ask, a man charges forward, cap in hand, bowing before Tuoni with a flourish. He’s frightfully handsome, tall and lean, with sharp blue eyes and tousled blond hair. “My lord,” he calls out in a deep voice. “Now that the feasting is done, is it not time for a dance?”
I can feel Tuoni tense through our bond, but he inclines his head and the room cheers. A great scraping sound fills the air as chairs and benches are pushed back. Across the room, several people stand, eager to join in.
The handsome man turns to face me. “Should not our new queen have the first dance?”
