Page 141 of North Is the Night
“You’re as transparent as ever, nephew,” Tuoni replies, his annoyance barely veiled. “If you wish to dance with my wife, ask her yourself.”
I fight my look of surprise as the handsome man flashes me his most charming smile. “Will you dance, my queen?”
I glance to Tuoni. He’s frowning, but he nods. I can all but hear his voice spoken through our bond.Be careful with that one.I try to match the young man’s smile. “I would be delighted.”
“Excellent,” the man calls. “We must have music!” He spins away with a clap of his hands, eager to clear a space at the front of the room.
“I thought you said no one could approach me,” I rasp in Loviatar’s ear the moment he turns away.
“Nyyrikki has never been one for following the rules,” the witch replies.
I go still as I take in the man’s tall form, his lean body and beautiful face.
“You’ll need to stand now, my queen,” Loviatar teases. “They wait for you to lead the set.”
I rise unsteadily to my feet as I commit Nyyrikki to memory. The god of the hunt has just asked me to dance, and Siiri isn’t here to witness it. My heart breaks a little, even as I try to find another smile for my husband. “You don’t mind, my lord?”
“Go,” he replies. “I’ll cut in when his hands start to rove.”
Kukka helps me with the clasp of my cloak. Then I float as gracefully as I can manage around the top table. Several other couples are already in the middle of the floor.
Nyyrikki prances forward and offers me his hand. “You honor me, majesty,” he says with another smile. He’s almost too confident. Siiri would drop his hat in the jam bowl before the night ends. With that image in my head, I laugh and smile, giving the god of the hunt my hand.
A troupe of musicians begins plucking the strings of their kanteles and blowing into wooden flutes. The dancers take up their positions in a set of two squares, with the women on the inside, facing out. Nyyrikki stands across from me in the set, holding my hand.
Just as we make our first bow, an ominous knock at the massive doors echoes through the hall. Tuoni waves the musicians to silence, and the doors swing inward. The crowd is too thick for me to see over all their heads, but the ripple that cascades across the room tells me someone important has entered.
Nyyrikki peers over the crowd towards the door. “Oh, excellent. She came.”
“Who came?” I say, still holding his hand.
“My mother.”
I have the faintest idea that I’m still standing. As I turn, heart pounding, the crowds part. Tuoni sweeps across the room in his robes of black, the image of a raven in a field of spring flowers. In moments, he’s leading a woman of enchanting beauty towards me.
This is Mielikki, goddess of the forests. The goddess I have prayed to every night since I was old enough to speak. She wears robes of earthen brown, dusted with lichen and moss. The robes are belted at her waist with a jeweled sash. The songs say her golden hair is so thick and long that it trails the ground behind her, and that four maidens travel with her through the forest, holding it aloft so it doesn’t snag on roots and brambles. Now she wears it braided in two thick plaits over either shoulder. Each hangs well past her knees. On her head is a crown of winter greens.
Tuoni leads the goddess forward on his arm, walking straight to where I stand, clutching the hand of her son.
Nyyrikki is all smiles. “Mother dearest, you came.”
“I said I would,” the goddess replies. Her voice is low and musical, like a dove’s soft cooing.
“Sister, may I present my wife, Ainatar,” says Tuoni. “My love, this is Mielikki, Queen of the Forests.”
His smile is gentle. He knows exactly what this moment means to me. How many times did I mention her to the raven? Now, he gives me an encouraging nod. Holding my breath, I bow my head. He said I’m not supposed to bow to anyone, but this is Mielikki. “I am deeply honored to meet you, my lady.”
The goddess surveys me with her stone-grey eyes. Her face has the same ageless quality as Tuoni’s, old and young at once. In truth, she is ageless. They all are. It strikes me all over again that I am the only creature in this room who will age and die.
“She’s a rare beauty,” Mielikki announces. “But I think this winter chill does not suit her. She is forlorn, a tree without its blossoms.” With a flick of her wrist, I feel something flutter around my head like the whisper of a butterfly’s wings.
Those closest to us sigh in appreciation. I can’t see the changes, but I smell them—strong notes of starflower, sprigs of cowslip, wood sorrel. Mielikki has adorned my driftwood crown with a spray of flowers. “Life and death,” the goddess intones. “We must have balance in all things, my young queen.”
I nod to her, still trying to control my hammering heart.
“I have a gift for the new bride,” she goes on, reaching inside her robes.
I hold out my hand, and she places the heavy item on my palm. As our fingers brush, the goddess goes still. Her eyes roll back in her head. Around the room, the candles flicker. A few people cry out. Still others press closer.
