Glittering Shadows (33 page)

“His Majesty does not like anything around him to look shabby and unpleasant,” Margit said, but she was twisting her hands, as if trying to decide how much this battle meant to the
king.

“She isn’t human,” Nan said. “Would you tell the trees of the forest they look shabby and unpleasant?”

“No…”

“Anyway, the king will have plenty of beautiful gowns to admire,” Nan said.

Ingrid sat on the sidelines without further harassment, while Nan and Sigi were dressed. Sigi endured it all with the expression of a wet cat, but Nan couldn’t help admiring the gown. She
couldn’t afford to make beaded gowns like this one. The beads formed a faux belt that crisscrossed her waist, and panels of black tulle gave the skirt a little volume.

“What color is it?” she asked Sigi, when Ingrid wasn’t paying attention.

“Mostly black, but the lighter beads are blue and gold,” Sigi said. “And mine’s
peach
.”

“Peach sounds pretty.”

“It’s a wishy-washy color, if you ask me. I hate pastels.”

Anna hustled up behind her and jammed a fan into her hand. “You had better not talk like that around the king.”

Once dressed, the palace attendants directed them back to the private cars just so they could drive back to the entrance of Neue Adlerwald. The men were all cleaned up and dressed in nice
suits.

Guards stood at attention at the front. The attendants opened the doors—all their movements formal, without words of welcome. The hall beyond the doors was almost completely dark. Nan was
a few heads back from Ingrid, who entered first, holding her fair head high and moving with slow formality, even though she was still wearing a homespun dress. Passing under the doors felt like a
point of no return, and they were such tall, thick, heavy doors, intricately carved.

Stepping inside, Nan realized why the hall was dark—to showcase a series of large paintings running down both sides of the walls. Each painting occupied its own recessed niche, with lights
placed to illuminate the scene, but not to bring it into the stark everyday world, where paintings were merely pigment on canvas. In the darkness of the long passage, the paintings glowed with a
life of their own. Each depicted some romantic scene of dragon-slaying or long-haired maidens on a craggy mountaintop or a woman weeping over a slain man in a funeral procession.

At the end of the hall, another set of doors opened to a great entrance room. The ceiling was painted with angels and clouds, and a huge chandelier with thousands of crystals caught the light of
tall windows around a balcony above.

At the top of the stairs stood the king with one hand on the stair rail. “Skuld the Norn,” he said, his voice similar to Sebastian’s, but deeper and more debonair. Maybe
Sebastian’s accent had grown rougher in his years away. “What happened? You didn’t like the clothes I provided? I apologize if I offended in some way.”

She remembered that voice, when it had belonged to a younger man—when it had been softer, for her ears alone.

It was definitely the man she had seen in all those paintings, and no disappointment for anyone expecting a regal king. He was perhaps six feet tall, with thick dark hair, sharp eyebrows, and
pronounced temples. But she also saw the much younger man in her memories, who had threatened her and locked her away.

“Maybe this plain dress does suit you.” King Otto took Ingrid’s hand and kissed it. “But I’m told you can’t dance?” His fingers still grasped her small
wrist.

“If you know anything about the Nornir, sir, you know human music is of no interest to us.”

“What a waste. You look like a ballerina. Human food, I hope, is a universal delight. I have planned quite an evening.” He snapped his fingers at one of the few servants visible on
the sidelines. The castle felt very empty overall, like a museum with Otto as the curator more than a home.

“An evening of productive discussion, I hope,” Ingrid said. “I didn’t come here to be diverted by pretty clothes and light entertainment—not when Urobrun and
Irminau are at war and the fate of magic is at stake.”

“One night! One night won’t hurt anyone. Your men could use the rest, I’m sure.” He narrowed his eyes as he took them all in over his shoulder. “What a ragtag band
you have here, but at least it’s interesting.” He finally noticed Nan. “What are these girls? They aren’t—”

“This is my sister Verthandi,” Ingrid said, “and her friend.”

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing your sister.” The king reached for her hand and kissed it, too. She was rigid, wondering if he knew she was the same Norn he had killed in
the past. Maybe she should have forced a smile, but she considered it an accomplishment to get through the moment without yanking back her hand.

The king led them through a series of fancifully decorated rooms—the first few were painted in light, delicate shades, with artwork depicting young heroes bearing swords, riding horses,
and courting ladies with heavy braids. “The rooms of my palace tell a story,” he explained. “The salon and the music room represent the innocence of childhood and the idealism of
youth.”

The next room had walls that were a deep red—Nan saw flashes out of the corner of her eyes like warnings—with swords and armor decorating the walls.

“This room, of course, is innocence lost, man’s realization of his power,” Otto said.

As they moved through the palace, a few ladies of the court appeared briefly down halls or from balconies. They never joined the party, but watched from afar with shy smiles and whispers. Their
modern clothes didn’t seem to fit their behavior.

The dining room was nautical in theme, with carved fish on the chairs and a centerpiece of a long wooden boat sailing through a sea of fruit and candy, and here they were asked to sit, with
Otto, Ingrid, and Nan at one end, with a few of Otto’s men separating them from the rest. Sigi gave her an apologetic wave as she was shunted off to sit next to Andre and Marco, familiar
faces among Sebastian’s men. She would probably have a much better time than Nan.

“You have traveled so far through this ghastly cold,” the king said. “Please, make yourselves at home. Hopefully we’ll have the beginning of a fruitful partnership for
Irminau and Yggdrasil.” He raised his glass.

Ingrid raised hers as well, and then everyone at the table followed.

The mood was nervous. These men were unaccustomed to royal dinners, and Nan wondered if some of them had unpleasant memories of Otto stirring in their enchanted brains. Someone knocked over a
wineglass. Everyone looked at the mortified fellow, who started mumbling apologies and trying to mop it with his napkin.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” King Otto said. “I welcome the chance for my sorcerers to display one of their talents.” A number of servants stood around the wall
like statues. Nan had assumed they were maids and footmen, but now one of them moved forward and picked up the empty glass. She waved her hand over the spill and the wine was back in the vessel
again.

“Very impressive,” Ingrid asked. “A water witch?”

“Of course.”

“What sort of witches do you have here?” Ingrid asked. “Lots of healers, I expected. Garden witches.”

“Yes. Common types, mostly. A few who can boost strength, a fire witch…You know we just don’t have as many as we once did. Sad days for the magic collector.”

Nan looked more closely at the water witch and the other people standing so silently along the wall. She wondered how they felt being spoken of as a collection.

“Lady Verthandi,” Otto said. She snapped her attention back to the food. “I am surprised to see you. I wondered if the Norns would still be reborn after Yggdrasil’s
destruction, but it appears Skuld’s efforts to preserve the tree have saved your life.”

Nan smiled uncomfortably. She was reluctant to drink or eat anything here.

Ingrid sipped her wine slowly, and Nan wondered if she was suspicious, too. “I would do anything to save my sisters,” she said. “I was lost without them. Your Majesty, all I
want is to have a frank conversation with you about our mutual goals. I know that many years ago, when you were newly crowned, Verthandi came to you and tried to tell you not to keep magic users in
your palace.”

Nan raised her eyebrows.

“Mm,” Otto said, cutting up his—no doubt magically grown—white asparagus.

“But we have since realized that we were wrong to ask this of you,” Ingrid said, looking at Nan sharply. “If we are to protect Yggdrasil properly and regain control of Urobrun,
you must have all the power in the land at your disposal. If you are to be our king and protector, we were wrong to try to take away one of your greatest assets.”

“Sensible,” he said.

“All I want is your protection,” Ingrid continued, “and my men and I will help you win this war.”

“Do you agree, Verthandi?” he asked. “Because the last time I saw you, you seemed more willing to let Yggdrasil die than to allow this.”

“I—I do agree,” Nan said. She wasn’t sure what else to say, on the spot. “Protecting Yggdrasil is the only thing that matters.”

“I think we’ve had enough of this talk for one night,” the king said, waving a hand to signal someone. “We’ll have days upon days to discuss politics. Let’s
have a show.”

The lights dimmed until the room was black, and then thousands of tiny lights came on above their heads in the shape of constellations and a full moon that illuminated the ship centerpiece. The
oars began to move, and little sails rose up the masts. Nan had no idea if it was magic or clockwork. The room filled with the sound of the ocean—that must be magic for sure. At the top of
the wall above King Otto’s head, little doors opened like a cuckoo clock, revealing a woman sitting inside clad in a costume of fish scales and coral. She began to comb her loose hair and
sing as if she were luring the sailors on the boat to their doom.

Under the dim light, the footmen gathered the soup bowls so quietly that not a single spoon clinked, then brought the fish course.

Nan struggled to eat a single bite under the pain of the woman’s singing. She suspected it was already an eerie song by the way the men had gone so quiet, but to her it was a tuneless
wailing that echoed all around. As the song went on, one of the sorcerers took a step forward and sent lightning crackling along the ceiling.

What a waste of magic,
Nan thought with disgust.

As the song ended, the table itself opened up and the ship began to sink through it, the lightning still flashing. The cuckoo clock doors shut, as the siren was apparently satisfied by the
sinking ship.

“Bravo, my dear,” Otto said, applauding. Everyone else began to clap when he did, though many of Ingrid’s men looked bewildered. Andre whispered in Sigi’s ear, and she
replied with a smile. Nan hoped Sigi didn’t anger the king, but he didn’t even seem to notice.

Near the end, as the coffee and dessert were served, King Otto barked, “This is
much
too hot!”

One sorcerer hurried forward and quickly touched his fingers to Otto’s mouth while another took the coffee and waved a hand over it.

After the meal, King Otto led the party to a ballroom, where they joined the rest of the men and dozens of other members of the court under another chandelier formed of faces holding electric
candles in their open mouths like they were being force-fed. An entourage of ladies joined them so the men had dance partners. A large band was already playing light airs in the corner, while
waiters circulated with drinks.

Nan was caught in a round of introductions for a while. She even met the queen, which was quite a surprise to her, because Sebastian had never spoken of his mother. Even the Irminau papers
almost never mentioned the queen. She was tall and shy, retreating to the sidelines with her ladies after the introductions.

“What an awkward court,” Sigi said, once they were finally free. Sigi had gotten a martini somewhere. “It would make for a very interesting book. I’ve been
gossiping.”

“You’d better not be getting yourself in trouble.”

“No, no. Mostly just listening to them go on about who’s having an affair with who.” She gestured to a group of women in a cluster near the bar. “I was asking about the
queen. Apparently Otto never talks to her. Bad marriage? Homosexual? Or maybe he’s just too caught up in ruling, but you’d think he’d want more heirs in that case.”

“I don’t think it matters,” Nan said.

“I don’t mean to stereotype, but I’m thinking he’s really into decorating the place. I almost feel bad for him. Wouldn’t it be awful to be royalty, with all that
pressure to marry for alliances and produce heirs?”

“We need to stay focused.”

Sigi tapped her chin. “Or do we? We’ll seem suspicious if we stay focused. The best thing we can do to blend in is to take an interest in anything
but
magic and war so we can
quietly gather information. That is the plan, isn’t it?”

“If I can’t think of a better plan to rescue Ingrid…”

“Let’s get a drink in your hand so at least you look relaxed and not so scheming.”

“I don’t want any more drinks,” Nan said. “I want to keep my head.”

“One drink won’t even make a dent in your head, darling.”

Nan’s cheeks warmed. Thea had called her darling before, but Sigi never had. Sigi had grown up as Arabella von Kaspar’s daughter; she knew how to navigate a society party. It was not
easy for Nan to let go of her focus, but she tried to follow Sigi’s lead. She held her drink, and Sigi introduced her to the other ladies. Nan stayed mostly quiet, laughing when appropriate
at stories about this baron sleeping with someone else’s servant girl or whatever else, but keeping an eye on Ingrid all the while.

She noticed Ingrid suddenly leave the room alone. Nan followed her down the hall. One of Otto’s guards who was posted by the doors trailed behind her, while another walked a distance
ahead, following Ingrid, but they didn’t interfere. She turned when she heard Nan’s heels behind her.

“Nan?”

“Is everything all right?” Nan asked, trying to be gentle. An evening of court gossip reminded her that Ingrid was indeed her sister, with no patience for this either.