Page 72

Vidar

A year later

“Your future bride is here,” my father says as he stands next to me, speaking out of the side of his mouth.

Dread floods my veins. Pure, cold dread.

I crack my knuckles, which prompts a tsk from my father. “Terrible habit, Vidar. Best you get it out of your system before the marriage. House Haugen is a family of manners. Better yet, get everything out of your system while you can.”

“Fuck every hole in sight over the next six moons is what you’re saying,” I say bitterly, taking a sip of my drink. It’s not strong enough. It’s Andor’s wedding; he can drink anyone under the table, and yet his drinks aren’t fucking strong enough.

“Language, boy,” my father chides, though there is amusement in his tone.

I’m staring into the distance, at Brynla in her lavender wedding gown that matches her hair, which is piled on top of her head in loops of various braid, as is customary in Norland.

She’s pressing her bouquet of wildflowers and ferns into the hair of any guests who want to be blessed with luck, though the line is mostly of women hoping to marry well.

Andor is off to the side with his friends Kirney and Toombs, having a laugh about something while they pass around a bottle of wine.

Every now and then he looks over at Brynla and the elated look on his face should make me happy.

I should be happy that my brother is so in love, so joyous that he gets to marry Brynla.

But I’m not happy.

Because once again Andor is allowed to do what he wants. And I have to marry Princess Liva of House Haugen, a woman I don’t know and haven’t even met. Haven’t even seen.

It shouldn’t have been this way.

But thanks to Andor, it is.

Even though I’m staring at them, I know my father is looking at me . I can feel his eyes burning. His hatred for me. His disappointment in his heir.

I glance at him, acknowledging his look. He doesn’t even blink.

I know I have a long game to play here. I have something that he doesn’t, that no one else does. If I have to marry into House Haugen, so be it. My father will be happy but I’ll be the one with the card up my sleeve.

“It’s a lovely wedding,” I tell him, raising my glass.

I walk off, staying to the back of the party where the lawn fades into brush, the wildflowers brushing against the legs of my suit.

It’s being held in the Blomfields beside Stormglen.

For months it’s been transformed into a venue for the wedding, complete with stone altar and a newly built barn that can hold the feast for hundreds of people.

At the moment, everyone is outside, drinking the free-flowing booze under the warm summer sun, celebrating the first marriage of the Kolbecks.

Soon, I will be expected to marry Princess Liva here.

Then Solla will have to marry someone. Then Steiner.

All of us little ducks being sent out into the world, doing our role for the family.

I pause near the back of the crowd, scanning for my future bride.

She must have come with her family when I was wrapped up in the ceremony.

Or perhaps I’ve been brooding and drinking too much to pay any close attention to the guests.

I’m surprised that my father allowed Andor’s crewmates and friends to join the festivities—goddess forbid they leach class from the event—but he’s been in a surprisingly good mood.

I thought he would have put up a fuss and prevented Andor from marrying Brynla, but I can see now that this is once again part of my father’s political strategy.

A high figure from Norland marrying a commoner from Esland, and a Freelander at that?

How noble of him to look past class, how cunning to extend a hand to the Freelanders in order to spite the Saints of Fire.

After our heist at the convent, we now know that the Eslanders are as much of a danger to us as the Dalgaards are.

I pause by the table lined with honeycakes and spot the Haugens near the entrance to the barn, all dressed in white, as they are always said to be.

There is Princess Odelle, the heiress, her sparse white gown adorned with lush flowers, flax, and palm fronds, symbols of the volcanic, tropical landscape of Vesland.

She’s staring across the wedding venue at Andor with a curled lip, and I can’t blame her.

She’s the one that Andor was supposed to marry years ago, but Andor was caught sleeping with her handmaiden instead.

After that, we assumed our chance with the house of Vesland was over, until my father pulled his puppet strings and betrothed me to Liva, the second in line, instead.

Then there is Queen Anahera with a coral crown on her head, the matriarch of House Haugen, flanked by her knights.

The women rule the families in Vesland, and the Haugens are no exception.

Not only does Anahera rule the land but the suen syndikat as well.

She’s an example of what my father aspires to for us: not only having the syndikat but holding royal power as well, for ultimate status and control.

Something I aim to make happen.

But first, I must marry Liva.

And there she is, standing to the side, talking with one of the Freelanders we’d rescued from the convent. She’s giggling with her hand to her mouth, her bright blue eyes sparkling.

Something in my chest burns at the sight of her, like she’s a shot of potent alcohol when I was expecting to drink water.

She’s of short stature, and isn’t thin by any means, though her voluptuous curves are showcased by her flowing white pleated gown.

Her wavy hair is long, and a muted pinkish orange, the color of the coral flowers that grow on the reefs of the Crystal Islands.

Freckles adorn her olive-toned face, sweet and beautiful and sensual all at once.

When she moves to place her hand on the Freelander’s shoulder, letting out a raucous laugh, she steps more into view, and that’s when I see what I’ve been wondering about.

She has a staff she leans on for support and a leg that’s covered to the knee in a silver cast. I’ve been told that her leg is intact but she needs the brace to correct her foot and get around with more ease.

Something that suen would possibly correct, but I also have heard that the Haugens are selective about using it.

“So you’re to be my wife,” I say under my breath, picking up a honeycake and nibbling on it, so as not to seem like I’m outright leering. “I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

The elderly woman beside me looks up from her cake in elated surprise, perhaps thinking I’m talking to her, but once she realizes who I am, she gives me a quick, frightened nod and scurries away.

I have that effect on people.

And in time, my reputation will only get worse.

I think back to my chambers, to the drawer beside my bed, to the locked metal box inside that drawer.

To the vial of pale blue suen that lies inside it.

They never saw me extract it. Steiner had his back turned.

Back on the ship, when Brynla first handed the egg of immortality to Steiner, he put it away.

When it was just the two of us in the room and he was occupied by preparing his incubator, I quickly extracted the suen from the egg, inserting the needle just below a scale, a shallow prick that only resulted in a quarter of a syringe, but perhaps that’s enough.

It must be enough. That egg is now gone, squandered, supposedly, by Andor and Brynla, though I have my doubt it was destroyed. Part of me thinks they’re lying, that they’ve already taken it, but of course it would be foolish of me to test the theory.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Whether they have it or not, I do.

And the future will belong to me.