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But she wasn’t sorry. Shouldn’t one be kind, regardless of one’s station? Hildr Hilmarsson had given her mending and embroidery to do, when she could easily have done it herself. She knew how desperately Gytha’s family had needed what food she could spare, and she knew they would prefer to earn it rather than accept charity. She had paid generously for the work, too, more generously than was reasonable. There was kindness in that, and it was nothing to despise or regret. Alexander had been kind, too, especially if he really was a prince.

Suddenly the queen’s voice rang out, as harsh and sharp and clear as crystal in the cold air. “Beat him. Now.” She turned on Gytha, her voice filled with unveiled hostility. “Let him and the others learn from this, and let you take this as a lesson in comportment, child.”

Four of the other servants took Magni by the arms. He cried out, his voice rough, and the queen roared, “SILENCE!”

And there was silence, except for the sound of Magni’s uneven breathing.

The other servants forced him to kneel facing the queen with his face pressed to the floor. Another servant, larger thanthe others, stepped forward from the far wall. He carried a thick staff.

Gytha’s mouth hung open, and her breath came short with terror.

The servant stood behind Magni.

The first blow fell upon his back with a sickening crack. Magni let out a harsh, guttural breath but said nothing. The second blow was as brutal as the first. Again the staff fell, and Magni made no sound. Another blow, and another, and another, and Gytha was weeping. The tears streamed down her face, and the blows continued. Magni slumped forward, and the servant did not stop.

Gytha sobbed and caught at the queen’s sleeve, but the queen shook her off, barely even noticing her distress.

Queen Javethai stood, apparently to gain a better vantage point to enjoy the display. Her chin rose in pride, and her lips curled up with cruel amusement.

There was no blood, but the sound of each blow, sharp and echoing, was horrifying.

Magni lay without any sign of life.

Finally the big servant stopped and looked up at the queen. She stepped down from the dais and strode toward Magni, her cloak swirling behind her.

Magni did not move.

Queen Javethai kicked him in the face with one foot and his head snapped sideways, limp. She smiled. “It is enough.” She turned back to the dais and strode up the stairs again, saying carelessly over her shoulder, “Take him away.”

Gytha was trembling, tears sticky on her face. Was Magni dead? Was it her fault?

The queen spoke lightly of many things, but Gytha could not pay attention. There was to be another banquet soon. Did she enjoy her painting? Did she want anything? A loom had beenmade and would be in the room where she painted, along with many exquisite colors of wool for her to enjoy.

How could the queen talk of trivialities now? Gytha was numb as her mind replayed the scene over and over. Had she caused it? What had she done wrong? Was it because she had smiled? She felt sick with guilt.

Alexander still stood silently in one corner. When the queen took her last bite, she called him to dance. He shuffled to the center of the room and stood where Magni had been beaten.

“Dance!” Queen Javethai cried.

The bear’s head drooped.

“Dance, bear.” The queen’s voice was as sharp and hard as a knife blade.

The bear shuffled from side to side without a sound.

Tears sprang to Gytha’s eyes again. “Please stop,” she whispered.

The queen glanced down at her and sneered. “Foolish child.” She waved an imperious hand, and the bear continued to dance.

Over three hundred flowers adorned Gytha’s cloth. It had been almost a year. Soon something would happen. Something would change.

She did not see Magni for many days. No one guarded her now. The cook sometimes peeked in the room, but there was no real need to guard her. She could no longer find the corridor that led to the surface.

Gytha felt so alone. The bear joined her sometimes as she embroidered and painted, but she was afraid to speak to him now. She did not want to see him beaten, too. Only when shewas sure they were alone did she try to speak, and then only very softly.

She never heard him speak. She had not expected him to speak. She had known he would not. Still, she felt his silence keenly, and she clung to the memory of his voice when the loneliness tormented her most acutely.

Sometimes he felt more distant, sometimes irritable or even hostile, and once he growled suddenly at her, his eyes gleaming with feral hunger, before he shook himself and rushed from the room.