His End of the Bargain

After typing up my memorandum, I ask Thorunn if he is still in the mood for street food kebabs. To my surprise, he is not. Since neither of us have eaten anyway, I still persuade him to accompany me to the lower city.

I have never seen him so sullen before. He is usually a very quiet person, but on a sunny day like this, where the winter cold turns brisk and refreshing and we have the whole afternoon to ourselves, he is usually happy to share stories of his seafaring adventures or ask questions about some mundane part of Saelic life he does not understand. Now he just walks passively by my side, eyes cast slightly downward. Asking him what is the matter does not yield any answers besides that he is fine, which is so obviously a lie that it is almost insulting to hear.

We walk in complete silence, then call a cab to take us into the city, and once inside resume sitting in silence. He is looking out the window almost wistfully. Now that we are in the little cabin, so close that our shoes cannot help but touch, the silence has become suffocating.

“I booked an inn room for the holiday,” I try to break the tension. “If you’d like, after lunch, I can show it to you.”

No reply.

“It’s a king-sized bed,” I add. “We can lie down together.”

He doesn’t even turn away from the window. I hesitate, then reach across the gap and place my hand on his knee.

“Thorunn? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I don’t know.” He finally pulls back from the window, but still refuses to meet my gaze. Eventually, I have to withdraw my hand. After a few more minutes of looking down at his hands, he finally asks, “Eloise, can I ask you something?”

I am so relieved that he is speaking to me that I blurt at once, “Yes, anything.”

“Do you think I am…stupid?”

It is a genuine question. Before I can answer, the rest of his words spill out like a breaking dam.

“I almost can’t stand it anymore,” he blurts. “All of this…this scheming, deceiving, plotting, planning, secret-keeping, con-fid-en-see-alty-damn that word, damn your awful language! I feel so slow and brutish, all the time, Eloise. And all the time I can do nothing about it except be…walked over. That man called me a dog , and neither of you batted an eye.”

The outburst takes me by surprise. “Thorunn—” I start to say, but then the window slides open and the carriage driver peeks back at us.

“Everything okay back there, miss? Need me to stop?”

“Mind your business,” I snap. Once the window has closed, I reach across to take his hands in mine. “Thorunn, I’m so sorry. I don’t think of you that way.”

“Then tell me what is going on.”

“I can’t.”

“And I hate it,” he laughs bitterly.

“But you know why I can’t,” I counter. “We discussed this already; we can’t be together if politics are involved. We are courting against the wills of our nations—whatever one of us shares could endanger the other.”

“Is it just politics? You hardly eat. Every night we spend together, you wake with nightmares.”

“If I tell you what is going on,” I say forcefully, “then I would have to tell you everything. I would be putting my whole life, and the lives of my loved ones, entirely in your hands. This is not just a job to me, Thorunn, this is my entire future—you cannot possibly imagine how intertwined they are.”

“And you’re crumbling under it. Please, my lady. Let me help you.”

I am silent. I inhale, hoping that the answer will come with my next breath. It doesn’t. Thorunn drops his head, resting his brow against the back of my hands.

“I just…feel so alone,” he whispers. “I am always with you…but I am always alone.”

There is something different in his voice now. A soft tremble that I have never heard before. He almost sounds like he is about to cry. But he doesn’t, just stares at our hands. “Oh, my dear,” I murmur. As the carriage rocks against a bump in the road, I move across to sit beside Thorunn, shifting my hands to cup his face. His eyes are closed. His long, pale lashes are wet with the beginnings of tears.

“I miss home,” escapes his lips. But just as soon as it does, he shakes his head. “No. I…I don’t. I would not spend another winter there. But I somehow hate this place more. I’m such a stranger in these lands, just a wild beast to stare at, too unpredictable to be trusted in your civilized society. But I know what you see when you look at me. A savage. A simpleton. A threat. Nothing more.”

“Thorunn, I—”

I am about to insist for the second time that I do not see him that way; that I think he is so much more. But that, I realize for the first time, is a bold-faced lie. I know nothing about Thorunn. Our courtship is skin-deep, punctured just as easily. Since the moment he stepped into my second life, I have regarded Thorunn as the wildcard in this game. I do not know his true motives nor his mission, and I have resolved to keep both him and myself in the dark. It is easiest to think of Thorunn as little more than, as Moretti put it, my watchdog. But why? Why have I remained so firmly incurious to the depths of Thorunn’s soul…if not for the lingering fear that he still cannot be trusted? In the back of my mind, I have feared what will happen if I seek to know more about Thorunn—he will want to know me in return. And I am afraid what he will do when he finds out.

Were I alone, I would think through this decision more carefully. But to see Thorunn on the verge of tears is like a solid stone caught in my chest, and I will do anything to get it out.

“Come home with me,” I blurt. “I’m going to see my mother tonight. I can introduce you. And…maybe explain.”

As soon as I make the offer, I start catastrophizing. What are you doing?! I scold myself. You don’t know Thorunn’s motives. You don’t know anything about his country, his allegiances or allies, or even what he is doing here in Saol Eile. He could be working for Queen Philomena; he could be gathering information to sell you out. You can’t trust him!

“But I need collateral,” I add.

I can see the hope fade from Thorunn’s face, at the same time the panicked voice inside me subsides. “Collateral?” he echoes.

“Give me something in return. Something valuable. I want to trust you, Thorunn, I do—but this is bigger than just me. This is my family, too, and possibly my whole country. I’m not at liberty to just…give away state secrets for free, and if anyone finds out that I did, that’s my neck on the line.”

“This is exactly what I hate,” Thorunn grumbles. “Everything’s a conspiracy to you people.”

“Well, you know the saying. When in Saol Eile.” I pause, then add, “Do as the Saelic do.”

“I know how it goes.”

He falls quiet again, his gaze wandering from our hands to my face and back down, settling on the humble leather bracelet around my wrist. For a while he stares at it, then gazes out of the window again.

“They’ll hurt you if they find out…that we are together?” he asks solemnly.

“Not exactly,” I clarify. “Only if they suspect that I am leaking state secrets.”

“And there is no way for you to confide in me without doing just that?”

I force a weak smile. “Afraid not.”

Again, he is silent for a few minutes. He must be pondering deeply—or looking for something. Suddenly, he leaps up from his seat and opens the sliding window. “Driver,” he says, “can we stop?”

I am thoroughly confused. I had planned on speaking with the driver anyway to change course towards Lavendel Road, but now we have stopped in the middle of the mercantile district. Thorunn takes my hand and helps me step down from the carriage. Then he leads me, backtracking past a few shops that our carriage had passed, to a small corner shop with glittering windows. A jeweler’s?

“Thorunn, what are we doing here?” I ask, thoroughly confused.

He turns to me, the brilliant light of the display reflecting in his eyes. Then he takes both of my hands in his.

“I don’t understand this accursed country,” Thorunn declares. “Though I know that I care for you. And I think…everything makes more sense now, in light of that. In my homeland, the true value of a gift is by its meaning—a bracelet of leather cording can be more precious than one of diamonds. If a woman demands wealth from her partner, she is vain and short-sighted. Here, it is the opposite. Even the sweetest, most innocent soul fears constantly for her life. Safety is bought and sold like goods on the market. For a Saelic woman, to demand wealth in exchange for trust is defensive, forward-thinking. Not vain at all.”

Slowly, he runs the pads of his fingers over my knuckles, taking care around the minor scrapes and callouses.

“I admit…the idea is still strange to me,” he confesses. “My people are not wealthy. I have little coin to my name. But if that is the price, I will pay it. Even if only to explore this strange, joyless country at your side.”

Without another word, he leads me inside the jewelry shop. Then he buys me a ring.

The ring itself is subdued, seemingly not at all expensive at first glance. The diamond is a clear oval set into a simple gold band, smooth and flat like a signet ring. But when it catches the light, thousands of fractals dance within the gemstone, and the gold band glitters with intricately carved scallops. The craftsmanship is exquisite and entirely unique—just as the diamond itself is one-of-a-kind, able to reflect light within itself in a way that could only be magic, this ring is the only one like it in all the world. Thorunn does not hesitate to sign the check.

It is not quite an engagement ring…and at the same time, it is exactly that. An engagement ring is, at its core, collateral. Something a woman may sell for a quick price if the worst happens. It is also a contract. If Thorunn sees me through this storm, I owe him at least the worth of this ring, and at most, the rest of my life. That is a fair bargain, in my eyes.

But just like a contract, the ring carries conditions. Once the purchase is finished, Thorunn closes the ring inside a box and slips it in his pocket. “As much as I desire to see it glitter upon your finger…I also want the truth,” he says. Then he adds hastily, “I don’t mean to offend you, my lady, I just—”

I cut him off, setting one finger against his lips. “It’s okay,” I smile. “Actually…I’m proud of you. Keep it until we have told you everything.”

He is really getting the hang of it, I think to myself. This is an ultimatum he would never have made with me before. I wonder how much truth there is in his claim that he has just been “walked over.” Perhaps the most telling sign is that I have overheard nothing at all about Thorunn, besides what I know myself. With other foreign ambassadors, rumors often fly around the palace about how difficult they are to work with, how hard of bargains they drive, or how blatantly disrespectful they are to Saelic culture. I know there is rarely truth in gossip, but some truths can be inferred. If someone makes waves, they will be talked about. And no one at all speaks about Thorunn. He is just a quiet, non-invasive presence at the conference table, here as a formality, with no achievements or disruptions to speak of, too hesitant to move in any direction.

Was it that very inertia that led him to my father’s throne room in my past life? I have wondered what motivated Thorunn to take such a dirty job…but perhaps there was no driving force at all. Perhaps he just accepted the first thing that floated his way. I am just lucky enough to catch him and give him a push in the opposite direction.

I ask the driver to change course, and we head into the lower city. This is the part of Saol Eile that Thorunn has seen almost nothing of, besides dashing through once on horseback. His face is pressed against the window glass the entire time. The streets are filled with merrymakers in various states of drunkenness and glee. A band has dragged a piano outside of its home tavern, filling the narrow streets with music and singing. Even the soot-blackened tenements glimmer with tinsel, as if they are buildings of pure silver. The oracles have predicted a violent snowstorm later tonight, so most of the cheap holiday decorations will be gone by tomorrow, ripped away in the wind and scattered around with the rest of the persistent road litter, to be picked through by the gutter kids and scrap metal scavengers later. All of these merrymakers will likely spend the next few days huddled indoors, rationing coal and mead to outlast the worst of the winter. But for now, Lavendel Road is beautiful and its inhabitants happy, and that is all we can ask for.

I explain to Thorunn that this is my home, that I grew up here and spent all my life in it. Slowly I watch the understanding dawn on his face. This is the Saol Eile that I love, even for all of its flaws. I suppose, if you live and work all day in the palace, it is easy to assume that the whole country is passive-aggressive political warfare and administrative red tape. You forget that millions of its people are just that…people.

When we arrive at my home, I ask Thorunn to wait in the carriage while I check in on Mom. I have not spoken to her since last night, when I sent her home with Pansy and Lucienne. She was in tears then, inconsolable. But I had a job to do and had to send her away so I could deal with Edgar. I am an anxious wreck, worried that my mother has suffered in my absence, until I step up to the front door and hear laughing. Peering in through the window, I see that the three are gathered by the fireplace, with a board game splayed out on the coffee table. Pansy is pantomiming something that involves an empty bottle on her nose and a dishrag on her head, to the uproarious laughter of Lucienne and Mom.

On our way, I had wondered what to do and say if Lucienne and Pansy were still present. They, like Thorunn, have been fed only small parts of this story, enough to serve my purposes and little more. But seeing them now, I have made up my mind. They deserve the whole truth more than anyone. They are my family, too.

All three of them are delighted to see Thorunn and me at the door. Mom is wearing one of her new dresses, a dazzling rose-pink dancing frock, and hugs me so tight that some of its glass rhinestones stick to my wool sweater and pop right off. “Sorry about yesterday,” she whispers in my ear.

“It’s okay, Mama,” I reassure her. “Let’s have dinner, sit down, and we can talk, alright?” I glance back at my friends, who are swarming around Thorunn with all the energy of two excitable schoolchildren. “All of us,” I add. “We need all the manpower we can get.”

Usually, we would need to line up outside in the cold to collect our dinner, but during the New Year’s furlough, the saints who run the community kitchen must have called upon the gods for extra miracles. Just before Thorunn and I arrived, they dropped off a beautiful wicker basket tied with a white bow, full to bursting with cakes, wine, potatoes, puddings, and even a whole roast duck, more than enough to share and store as leftovers. We feast until we are fit to burst, and once we are satisfied, we settle in front of the fire, content and full and happy.

And Mom tells her story. Beginning to end. She has always fascinated me when she tells stories. Speaking with her face-to-face, you would never guess that this ordinary, uneducated, and often sharply tactless woman could be such an illustrative storyteller. But when she stands in front of an audience, a change comes over her whole person. Her dark eyes grow big and shining, and without knowing she is doing it, she lets her voice lull and sway to the same waltzing tempo as her lithe body and fluttering hands. When Mom tells a story, it is impossible not to feel it with her. One cannot help but stop and listen, and once they have stood still for any longer than the briefest moment, they are swept away in her hypnotic dance and siren’s song.

Lucienne and Pansy have heard Mom’s story many times before. But, even though they have seen Prince Edgar through Lucienne’s scrying magic and in the restaurant, I do not think it actually clicked for them that all of it was real—that he is actually a prince, that Mom was briefly a princess, and that every last detail of this fairytale is true. The revelation is as new to them as it is to Thorunn. He takes in the whole story with a deeply pensive, almost vacant expression. It is only once Mom has well and truly finished, and after Pansy and Lucienne have passed several dozen clarifying questions between Mom and I, that Thorunn finally speaks up.

“Princess Imogen,” he announces. “On my name as heir to the Oberjarl, Wolf of the Northern Seas, and Axe of Hela …you have my full and unyielding support. My people would be honored to defend your rightful title.”

“Ooh, Princess Imogen,” Mom echoes, striking a pose. “Ellie, I like this boy!”

“Thorunn, are you certain you can speak for all of your people?” I ask hesitantly. “Even here, in Saol Eile, my mother isn’t exactly…a popular princess candidate. No offense, Mama.”

“Don’t speak to your princess that way,” she sniffs, and strikes another pose more exaggerated than the last.

“I must admit, I did not expect the fractures to run so deeply,” Thorunn replies, “but we have known for some time that the Saelic crown is broken beyond repair. That they would treat one of their own loyal servants with such cruelty—it is such an injustice that the whole world would look upon this country in shame. Even ours, a country of raiders and pirates, knows better. Give the word, Your Highness, and my armies will raze this kingdom to the ground just to put it out of its misery.”

Mom grins. “ Do it. Off with their heads!”

“Mama!” I protest.

But the bloodlust is contagious. “You know what? Yeah! Fuck all those guys—long live our one true princess!” Lucienne hollers.

“I, for one, welcome an invading army of tall, strapping barbarians,” Pansy declares.

“And when our enemies are naught but ash on the wind,” Thorunn continues, before he slides his hand behind my waist, “we shall anoint our new kingdom with tears of the purest joy.”

He pulls me close, as if for a kiss, and I am about to return the favor with passion when he suddenly hesitates.

“Ah,” he inclines his chin. “It is time for my end of the bargain, yes?”

Then he gets down on one knee, fumbles in his pocket, and finally pulls out the little box. The resulting high-pitched squeals, cumulative of Mom’s, Pansy’s and Lucienne’s voices all at once, threaten to blow out the very windows of the house.

I say yes, of course.