Page 39 of Vow of the Undead
She made quick work of laying a new dress across my bed and setting out several bracelets, a necklace, and earrings for me to wear. Her mouth hung open, breathing rapidly as her empty stare fixated on the dress for a moment.
She turned to me, her stare haunting as I returned it through the reflection in the mirror.
“Are you all right?” I asked, hopeful she would speak to me. The servants didn’t exactly refuse to talk, but those I encountered last night didn’t make conversation either. She’d only responded in single words, and when I’d asked for her name as she’d guided me to bed, she’d whispered it;Embla.
At least that much I could remember before the wine carried away most of the previous night.
“The king requests your presence at a celebration for your betrothal.” It was all she said before she finally snapped her jaw shut.
“Another one? Didn’t we celebrate last night?”
She hummed, but it didn’t sound like a confirmation. “And now another day has passed with sleep. The time to be awake passed several hours ago. They’d like plenty of time to celebrate before dawn.”
I rubbed my eyes. No way had I slept that much, but the exhaustion pulling at my eyes said otherwise. Perhaps I’d never become accustomed to the flipped schedule in Mara where the people prepared for the dark of the Polar Nocturne.
“You are to become our new queen,” she continued. “I’m told there is a long process. Approval, appointing, and then application. But not to worry, it all takes place during the celebrations.”
“Is this just an excuse for the people of Mara to drink more wine?” I asked.
She gave me the faintest shrug. I almost didn’t catch itbefore her frail shoulders fell and she pointed at my hair. “May I redo your braids?”
My gaze flicked from her to my reflection. I ran my hand over the heavy braid laying atop the rest of my hair. The side where smaller braids pulled tightly to my head had come loose with wild hairs after my night of drunken stupor. The heat of too many bodies had twisted the escaped hairs in weak coils.
Already, my hair had adapted to the humid southern weather. The curls changed so easily, so quickly, I almost didn’t see Silver now when I looked in the mirror. This was King Drakkar’s future wife, a woman I didn’t know.
I sighed and nodded. “If you keep it in the style of Skaldir.”
Women in the northernmost village wore two tight braids against their skull on either side, joined with a thicker braid in the center and then laid over free-flowing hair to imitate the fall of water over the cliff of Iskniv, the highest peak visible from our village.
Embla worked in silence, tugging lightly at my hair, quickly weaving and tightening each braid with her slight fingers. It didn’t matter how many little questions I prodded her with, she only hummed in response. I didn’t dare ask her where the king practiced wielding his sword, or if servants or courtiers ever tried to challenge his reign. Knowing where the king stored his weapons was likely not allowed, and I wouldn’t get this poor girl in trouble.
Silence settled in my throat, but she continued to hum.
The soft pitch carried a tune. Steadily lifting until it matched the rhythm of a familiar song, one written by the ancient skalds. Village poets no longer wrote about the Gods, but this melody was old, as old as Sol herself. The pitch that climbed higher and higher represented the rising morning light as the God of the sun drove the chariot that carried it across the sky.
I closed my eyes, listening to the tune I hadn’t heard since my mother sang it to help us sleep.
Embla no longer looked as stricken after I stopped inundating her with questions. Brushing and twisting my hair clearly brought her peace, and I was honored she kept to the Skaldir style without a fuss.
I didn’t have time to sit with her for too long, but I enjoyed every minute of her presence. Though she was a young woman, maybe eighteen or twenty, her wide eyes and blond curls sparked thoughts of Alva.
How had Embla come to serve in Mara’s Keep? I couldn’t imagine this gentle girl causing bloodshed, and felt none of the crackle beneath my skin that I came with being in another witch’s presence.
Perhaps she was another unknown. Villagers often explained away those who vanished by insisting that a wild animal had dragged them away. But those who were bolder, hinted that they were taken, either by monsters or other people, I didn’t know. Nobody would ever clarify what they believed about it.
What if the same happened to Alva someday?
I gritted my teeth, suddenly set on getting to know Embla. If I could make her life even a little better here as the queen, it would be enough reason to take the title.
Once my hair was set, she helped me into the courtier’s garb. The icy blue silk nearly matched the shape of the silver nightgown as it held tightly to my hips, my shoulders, my breasts. It dipped lower in the front than the dresses I wore in Skaldir.
The king wanted to parade me as his prize, or a well-dressed prisoner. I still didn’t know where I stood with him.
Embla pointed to the mirror and then gestured for me to turn around. “Do you approve?”
“It looks just like my Skaldir braids.” I gave her a gentle smile.
“Look again.”
