“Why should I?” Morgan couldn’t look directly at her. When he was angry in front of her this way he felt like a child again, foolish and irresponsible, and that only made him more angry. “Grandfather doesn’t want me there.”
“Well, I want you there,” the queen told him. “That should be enough.” She blew on her fingers to warm them. Seeing his grandmother’s red, cold hands, Morgan was unhappy with both her and himself, although he was not sure why.
After they had left Elvritshalla to begin their trip home, a spring blizzard had forced the royal progress off the road south, so for the moment they were guests at Blarbrekk Castle, the home of Jarl Halli and his family. The jarl was still in Elvritshalla because of Isgrimnur’s funeral and Grimbrand’s succession, but Halli’s daughter and servants had welcomed the king and queen in their lord’s absence. Lady Gerda was still apologizing for the lack of food and clean linen, but thanks to the able planning of Sir Jeremias, the royal progress carried enough of both to serve in most unexpected calamities.
“Don’t sulk,” the queen said. “Your grandfather does want you to attend the council.”
“Oh, does he? You heard him, Grandmother—he was going to send me back to Erchester in disgrace. That’s what he said. Because I’m irresponsible.”
“And why did he say that, Morgan? Because you deliberately left your guards behind and went out into a strange city in the middle of the night. And onto a frozen lake!”
“Why does the king care so much? He’s not the one who’s got bruises from head to toe.” Morgan knew this was not a very good argument, but even days later and leagues away from the scene of his embarrassment, he was still aching. “And why isn’t Little Snenneq in trouble? It was his idea.”
The queen shook her head, half amused, half appalled. “Saints defend us.”
“What?” He realized he was getting loud, which was another useful way to humiliate himself. Look, Prince Morgan is outside shouting at the queen. He’s like a spoiled child, you know. “Why is everyone always furious with me?”
“I said, don’t sulk, young man.” Queen Miriamele took her hands out of the sleeves of her robe long enough push a strand of wet, red-gold hair out of Morgan’s face, reminding him that to the aged king and queen he would probably never seem a grown man. “I can think of few less attractive traits in a prince,” the queen continued. “And your sister Lillia is beginning to do it, too. Yes, your grandfather lost his temper with you, but with good reason. You are the heir to the High Throne, Morgan. The lives of all the people in all the lands we’ve traveled since the new year will depend on you. If you fall into a freezing lake and drown, who will be our heir?”
“I know! I’m not stupid.”
His grandmother sighed. “I do not have the strength for this, Your Highness. Come to the council or stay away as you wish. But a real prince must learn to overcome his feelings for the good of his people.”
“What does this council have to do with the good of anyone? A lot of talking, a lot of tired old stories—”
His grandmother closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “There is a grave difference between ‘old stories’ and ‘history,’ young man, although sometimes it’s hard to know which is which. Some stories seem old but they never end, and they are just as important today as they were a century ago. The Norns were here long before our Erkynland existed, and they still live in their dreadful mountain up north, swarming in the dark like white beetles. If they come out again, they will gladly kill every one of us, even your younger sister. Is that nothing but an ‘old story’?”
He looked down at his feet for a bit. Morgan understood that she was trying to make peace, in a way, but something dark and raging had a grip on him, and he couldn’t shake it loose.
“If the Norns are so dreadful and terrible,” he said at last, “then why didn’t you kill them all when you had the chance? Why didn’t Grandfather do anything about them then, instead of staying home and sending that old Northman Duke Isgrimnur to chase after them?” He felt a kind of sick satisfaction at seeing his grandmother’s features go pale with fury.
“You do not know how lucky you are that I love you as much as I loved your father, Morgan.” The queen’s words were carefully measured, colder than the fluttering snow, “or I would slap your face for that. You speak of things you know nothing about. No, look at me.”
Morgan had not expected his flailing to result in an actual wound and did not want to look at her. He was much more interested in his snow-flecked boots.
“By Saint Rhiappa and the Holy Mother, boy, I said look at me and I meant it.”
Morgan raised his eyes and wished he hadn’t. The shocked anger on the queen’s face had become something more daunting, an expression that was no expression at all, like the parade figure of a warrior-saint. He was not sure he’d ever seen her so unhappy with him, and his stomach churned. “Very well,” he said with what he knew was poor grace, “I’m sorry. The duke was your friend—I know, I know. He was a great man. I’m sorry and I’m a fool and I take it all back.”
“You take it all back?” The queen leaned forward and dropped her voice. “Listen to me well, child. Unless you manage to kill yourself with some stupid prank and break our hearts, you will be a king someday. You must learn to think not only before you act, but also before you speak. Among your family and our courtiers and servants, you might only hurt feelings, but with others you might begin a war—yes, a war—just by talking stupidly about people and situations you don’t understand.” She took a deep breath. “But I do not have the time to correct all your ignorance now. I am going inside. You have been invited to join us—which, I may remind you, is what is expected of a prince your age, and is not some irksome chore—but you may do as you please.” She turned as if to go, but stopped in the doorway. “This is not the end. If you cannot manage to consider your words first, then I advise that you learn to speak less, young Prince Morgan. Much less.”
Morgan knew he should follow her, but the unhappiness inside him wanted cold and suffering and solitude, so he lingered in the colonnade after she’d gone. Despite the quiet, he heard nothing until he felt the touch on his arm. “Holy Ransomer!” he cried, startled, but when he turned he saw, not a creeping Norn, but a figure like a fat child in a hooded jacket. “Snenneq, you startled me!”
“It is true,” said the troll, grinning, “that I am silent like the u’ituko beast, who can cross snow without breaking even the crust.”
Qina came up behind her betrothed. “Yes, silent,” she said with a nod and a fond smile. “Klomp, klomp! Crunch, crunch! Oh, no, rabbit run away!”
“She teases only, friend Morgan,” Snenneq assured him. “She knows that I have many gifts, but she likes to take fun of me. Women are not always having enough seriousness, do you agree?”
“Doubtless. Where have you two been?” Despite his irritation at the trouble that had come to him from the trolls’ ice-sliding expedition, he was grateful for the company, or at least the distraction. It was quickly becoming clear that standing outside in the cold had not been one of his better ideas. “I looked for you earlier.”
“The kitchen,” said Snenneq promptly. “It was very instructing and full of nice smelling. The kitchen woman-lady has a name of great power and longness—she said it is, ‘Erna But May God Save Me If They Ever Call Me Anything But Where’s My Supper.’ We were being much impressed. Nobody in Yiqanuc has such a mouth full of name!”
“And I eat a dimple!” said Qina proudly.
“Dimple?”
“Dumple,” explained Snenneq. “From the stew Erna Long-Name was at making.”
“Ah,” said Morgan. “Dumpling.”
“I so much liked it,” Qina said, her eyes a little dreamy. “Most fluffly.”
Little Snenneq seemed concerned the conversation had wandered too far afield from his original purpose, so he gave his betrothed a meaningful look, then tried a new and more dignified tack. “Now, friend and prince Morgan, we have come in truth for asking, will you join out to the water with us? A trip to the lake?”
“No! In the name of all the saints, why would I?” Morgan wrapped his arms around himself and grimaced. “I still hurt all over from last time! And I was nearly sent home by my grandparents for sneaking out with you. Why would you want to go out on another lake, anyway? It’s freezing cold!”
“To fish!” Little Snenneq said. “It is good the lake is freezing, so we can go out among the ice. We are cutting a hole in it, then we are lowering into it the string for the fish to take. With the . . . the . . .” He turned to Qina and made a shape with his finger.
“Hawk,” she suggested.
“Hook?” tried Morgan.