The Iron Princess (3 page)

“Tero said the duke is desperate for Father’s alliance. The German kingdoms are more divided than ever, and if the duke continues to grow in power, he will have a fight on his hands with his cousin, Frederick Barbarossa.” Last week, while listening outside her father’s door, she had heard a lengthy discussion of the similar rival kings’ troubles in the German lands. Duke Henry and his second cousin, both of house Welf, claimed the right to rule over the divided German kingdoms, although Pope Adrian IV had declared Frederick the Holy Roman Emperor more than ten years ago, and the majority of kingdoms recognized him as the King of Germany.

“Tis a hornet’s nest, my love. With Pope Alexander’s return to Rome, Frederick’s support in the church is dwindling. It is no secret that it was Frederick who opposed Pope Alexander’s papal appointment after Pope Adrian died,” her mother replied. “Tero also has heard talk of Frederick organizing a new Italian campaign. The duke and your father would be wise to have no ill-will toward Frederick, but to stay will out of his warpath. Garnering the wrath of Frederick could put Sweden next on his list of countries to invade.”

“Surely the archbishop would never let that happen—the church would never stand for it!” Katia said.

“Rome’s good opinion has never stopped Frederick’s ambition in the past.”

“Sweden is much too important and much too powerful for a German king to invade. But if the duke is our ally and supports the House of Eric, and Father is kinsman to the House of Eric, would it not be better for Father, and for Sweden?” Katia asked. “With the duke’s support from the south, if the House of Eric could be restored to its rightful throne, Father could claim to be kin to the next king and Sweden will be better protected for it.”

“And who would that be better for, your father or Tronscar?” Lida said.

“For both.”

Her mother pushed a chunk of Katia’s wet hair behind her ears and looked her squarely in the eyes. “If your father supported his ambitious cousin’s claim for the House of Eric, that would resign his men—our friends and neighbors—to certain civil war. Would that be better for Tronscar?

“Your father’s ambition begins and ends at our gates. He desires peace for his people and his countrymen. If King Karl can rule with a united kingdom behind him, think of how much more protected we will all be. Duke Henry would be wise to follow your father’s lead and focus his attention solely on the ruling his own realm, not picking fights he can’t win with his cousin.”

Katia lowered her head to her mother’s shoulder and sighed. Across the room, her brothers played cautiously with jewel-incrusted swords, perhaps imagining themselves as rival kings in battle for the throne. Katia sighed, giving up on trying to figure out her own political views for the moment. “I did well today, Mama. I did not come close to winning, but I did not—”

“Katia.” Her mother made a tsking sound. “What you did was foolish. You could have been hurt, and if you had been, that nice young man would have paid a high price for it. You owe your father and that young man an apology.”

“Taking away all my practice armor is apology enough. Truly, I—”

Lida stroked her cheek consolingly. “My love, you must learn your limits. A maiden’s role is to protect herself and her family. Not engage in open warfare. Be sensible. You possess a lovely, delicate frame. I need you to take care of it and respect the role God appointed you.”

Katia groaned in frustration.
Curse her womanly frame.
Why did she have to be so small?
Her half brothers would most likely be taller than her before they turned ten. The jarl was a mountain of a man, and if he had been her true sire, she imagined she would have turned out much taller. Her body was nothing more than chains that would always hold her back from becoming what she was truly born to be.

“You are dripping all over my stomach, my love. You best go dry your hair.”

Back in her chamber, Katia found Tosha sitting by a small fire in the hearth. They spent the next few hours chatting and arranging each other’s hair while arguing the merits of Katia’s assortment of gowns. Katia had learned to pick her battles with Tosha and in the end let her choose which gown she would wear.

“That’s a monstrous bruise on your shoulder,” her friend said while helping Katia lace her gown. “You should show your mother. She will have a salve to soothe it.”

“So I can reek of rancid sheep grease? I think not.”

“Why, Kat,” Tosha said in a teasing tone, “are you trying to impress a certain someone this eve?”

“I have no wish to impress anyone. Only, well, he was . . .” Even though no one else was in the chamber, Katia lowered her voice and leaned a little closer to her friend. “He had distractingly handsome eyes, did he not? And really lovely wavy hair.”

Tosha swatted her arm. “I knew you liked him. You were all hot under the collar because your charms had no effect on him.”

“Not true!” Katia felt jittery inside thinking of Lothair. She had scarcely been able to think of anything else. “’Tis simply that he is not from Tronscar, so . . . I find him interesting, is all.”

Tosha rolled her eyes, making Katia laugh.

“Do you realize that we might meet our future husbands tonight?” Tosha bounced up and down and clapped excitedly. “The hall is full with the strapping Saxon envoy. My mother forbade me from going into the lower bailey and said the barracks are off limits.” Her friend wiggled her eyebrows up and down.

Tosha’s mother, Ragna, was in charge of both the primary and the secondary kitchens and would have her spies everywhere. This would have proven problematic, had Katia and Tosha not worked out a way around the planted scouts years ago.

Katia held the door open, waiting for Tosha to come to her senses. “I don’t understand this obsession you have with husbands. Why would you shed the chains of one taskmaster only for the untested shackles of another?”

“Fraudster! You are just as excited to flirt with those Saxon lads as me.” Tosha was right. Katia was a terrible fibber.

“Very well,” Katia said, “I will admit I would not wish to pass up the opportunity of hearing all about Lubeck and the German kingdoms. They are ever changing and vastly interesting.”

“
Pff
, whatever you want to tell yourself,” Tosha said as they drifted down the long corridor toward the stairs. “I doubt very much the jarl will approve of you spending much time chewing the ear off a Saxony lad. You can look all you want, Kat, but that lad is dangerous territory.”

“Tosh, must I have the herald announce it for all to hear? I am not looking for a husband!” Katia swept her hand out in a grand gesture. “I swore a long time ago that I was never going to wed. My father and mother will never force me.”

“Both our mothers had babes by our age, Kat. You say that you don’t want a husband, but wait till the right lad looks at you that certain way. My sister told me all about it. You’ll change your mind.”

Katia looked down at her gown and strongly regretted allowing Tosha to have her way. This was her least favorite, a rose-colored silk gown with white fur trim. She looked like a bleeding princess in the stuffy thing, with her bosom pushed high up on display. Her father had given her the fabric with great pride upon returning from the Far East. Hopefully the gown would at least please him, perhaps soften his anger enough to have her sword returned.

Since Tosha was so keen on the topic of husbands, Katia had insisted her friend wear Katia’s treasured sky blue gown with white embroidered trim. Tosha looked splendid.

Although her reason for excitement was different than Tosh’s, Katia did feel feverishly filled with anticipation for the feast. Her parents would be distracted entertaining their guests, so Katia was sure to have a grand time enjoying the music and dancing with her friends. Giggling, with arms linked, Tosha and Katia glided down the final steps, arriving at the far corner of the great hall.

The smell of sage-roasted boar sent her stomach to rumble. A festive, upbeat tune from the lute and harp musicians echoed all around them, aided by the vaulted ceiling. Only the most hardened hearts wouldn’t be uplifted tonight.

Skipping the last few steps, Katia could not contain her merriment. “No babes or husbands for me. I have been holding babes and hearing my mother curse them out of her for far too long. I will have a life of adventure and meaning. I am going to do something grand with my life, Tosh, something big! My destiny has just not revealed itself to me yet.”

“
Pff
, something big? An adventure? And you plan on doing this how, exactly, with your father glaring over your shoulder?” Tosha had a good point.

“I did not say that I had all of my plan worked out,” Katia said.

“Well, I still wager that if Lothair smiled your way, you would drop your big plans for adventure and swim on down to Lubeck after him.” When her friend erupted into a new fit of giggles, Katia was soon to follow suit.

Katia’s mother had gone all out for their guests tonight. Tronscar had never looked so inviting. White royal furs lined the throne chairs at the head table, and colorful, plush cushions covered long lines of benches for the lower tables, which would serve over two hundred this evening. Every silver brazier was polished to a reflective shine. Norrland banners and her mother’s best tapestries were on proud display on every wall. Honey-scented candles and spiced oil burned in the lamps. Every available surface was crammed with bouquets of white wildflowers. Over the dais, the chandelier that illuminating the head tables dripped with vines and fragrant blossoms.

With her arm still linked with Tosha’s, Katia made her way over to the lower tables, hoping to find a place as far away from her parents as possible.

“Katia!” Her father’s voice boomed like thunder from behind her.

She spun around with a fake smile plastered to her face. “Yes, Far.”

The jarl stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes sparking with unspoken lectures that were still to come. “You will take your regular place to the right of your mother. Tosha, my sons have something they would like to say.” He glared down at the angel-faced twins, who mumbled out a quick apology.

“They will be seeing to all of your chores in the kitchen for a fortnight, Tosha, starting tonight,” her father added. Her brothers groaned, kicking at the freshly laid rushes. “Come, Katia, you will be hosting our guests this evening.” Her father proudly declared her punishment.

Katia’s facial expression slipped to resemble her brothers. Her father offered his arm and led her directly to the duke and the other high officials collected at the foot of the dais. Enjoying the feast now seemed impossible.

“I present my daughter, Katia.” Her father offered up her hand to the richly attired Duke of Saxony. A handsome man regardless of his years, the duke wore a black fox fur collar and a thick gold chain, signifying his prominence as a prince of Saxony, Bulgarian, and German lands. The man to his left was balding, fat, and red in the face. He was a count of somewhere important. Katia could not be bothered to remember because now she was too busy trying not to blush at the man to the duke’s right: Lothair.

Even his name sounded powerful and commanding. She was certain that with his sword skills and the advantage of being born male, he would have a fine life of adventure. He would be able to accomplish great things with a name and an arm like that, increasing the besotted feelings that welled up in her.
Besotted?
That couldn’t possibly be what she was experiencing. She had never been besotted over anyone before. She was certain that it must be some other feeling—she just did not have a name for it.

She had apparently swallowed her tongue on the first sight of Lothair’s distracting, deep green eyes. She was never shy or uncomfortable in the presence of her father’s endless stream of visiting nobles. What was wrong with her? Perhaps it was the onset of a stomach ailment. She curtsied and smiled, all the while berating herself.
Stop behaving like a stupid, moonstruck cow.

“Daughter, this is our honored guest Duke Henry of Saxony and his counsel, Count Krister of Northum. And you have met his nephew, Baron Lothair of Hanseatz.” Before her father finished the introduction, her stomach was swarming with buzzing bees.
Could a person actually expire from embarrassment?
Being forced to look at Lothair in the presence of her father and these other men made her sweat. Could they all tell that she was having such an odd reaction to the young baron?

The duke seized her hand and bowed over it. “Your humble servant, fair maiden. And may I say what an exquisite shade of rose you are wearing for us this evening.” Katia could feel herself growing redder with every passing second.

“You are most kind, your grace,” Katia replied in Saxon.

“She speaks our tongue? Magnus, you never made mention to me.” The duke slapped her father’s shoulder and laughed. “Dresses like a boy in the day, pretty as a blooming rose in the eve, and speaks the tongue of the highborn. You raised a champion to be sure, my friend.”

“I have nothing to do with her aptitude with language,” Jarl Magus said with a brazen grin. “Katia’s grandmother speaks an unreasonable amount of tongues. Although why she would want to speak any other than Swedish is beyond me.” He shrugged, appearing carefree and light of heart. “Young people—you know how they get with their misdirected interests.”

The two men laughed like a pair of sailors. They’d probably been drinking all afternoon. Katia had no idea whether this was a good development for her or not. It would certainly be easier to get her armor returned if the jarl continued to be in a merry spirit.

“Come, my friends, let us feast and toast our newly forged agreements,” her father said.

Katia followed them up the steps to the high table to take her assigned seat. She worked hard to resist the urge to turn her head and stare at the young man that walked by her side. She felt slightly light-headed, and her every fiber was painfully aware of the closeness of her escort.

Lothair pulled out her chair and she sat, her heart hammering faster than seemed healthy. He shoved her chair in abruptly and claimed the iron-framed chair next to her. He had not spoken one word to anyone. His handsome face was expressionless, which she supposed was an expression in itself. She stole sideways glances at his high, sharp cheekbones and square chin, all unapologetically masculine features.

After the jarl honored his guest with a long-winded welcoming speech, the feast was served. For what felt like hours, Katia sat listening to the varied conversations taking place at the far end of the table. Her dinner partner ate in brooding silence.

Overall, Katia concluded that Lothair exuded a well-formed, arrogant pride. His posture indicated that he was bored and he was clearly uninterested in the common practice of polite conversation.

In her most eloquent display of false politeness, she asked, “Would you be so kind as to pass the boar, Baron Hanseatz?”
As you are familiar with boars, being a bore yourself
, she felt like adding.

He passed the platter, she helped herself, and he put it back. Not one word. Not one glance in her direction.

As she sliced her meat into small, genteel bites, she came to the conclusion that he was most likely trying to bore her to death. Was this a new battle tactic Katia had not yet studied?

Katia watched with envy as Tosha laughed with two of Katia’s other close friends, who were a comfortable distance from the dais. Leaning in around her friends were five young warriors, all speaking over one another to have their opinion heard. Tosha tilted her head back in a loud laugh. Katia imagined that the conversation was very interesting—probably tales of battle, new ports, and wondrous sights.

And here Katia was stuck next to a haughty lad who thought he was too important to engage in conversation with a lowly girl. Good looks and impressive swordsmanship only got you so far in securing Katia’s good opinion. Now that she thought on it, his handsome appearance was rather a disadvantage. You can have the prettiest head of hair in the world and the most majestic broad shoulders, but if you had an empty head, what good were you really?

Her thoughts were interrupted when the object of her speculation finally deigned to mutter a few words. “Who taught you the sword?” he said from behind his raised cup. Katia glanced over, not certain if he had spoken to her or not. His eyes were cast downward.

She took the gamble that he had in fact spoken to her and answered. “I was instructed as a shield maiden at first by my father, and then by my sword master, Rikard. May I enquire as to where you learned the sword?”
Stupid, stupid question!
The moment it left her lips, she wanted to swallow it back down.

He glanced over at her and furrowed his dark brows. “In Lubeck,” he answered. “It is where I am from.”

“Of course you are—how silly of me. It is only that Tronscar is my second home. I spent my early years in Finland, you see. Have you ever been to Turku?” She tried to speak softly and sweetly, as her mother insisted. However, she found it difficult to manage due to the fact that her heart had recently relocated from her chest to inside of her eardrum.
What was wrong with her?
He was just another fancy-faced dignitary from across the sea, so why was speaking to him so much more nerve-racking? Perhaps it was the knock to the side of her head earlier today. Yes, that must explain the cause of her sweaty palms and tight throat.

“Last spring. Good trade port.” He answered her with as few words as possible. He glanced at her again before returning his attention to his wine. The two sat, silent and bored once more, only this time the dead air between them thickened and became more pungently awkward.

“I was told that I owe you an apology for earlier,” Katia said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. The feast was already ruined for her, so why not give the arrogant lout a piece of her mind and salvage a small remnant of her pride? “So I suppose I will, but I would add to you this one point. How am I ever to improve if no one will truly test me? Today was the first time anyone has ever given me more than a swat. They are all petrified to hurt me and face my father’s wrath. So, though it may have been rude to conceal my identity from my opponent, really, was this that big a fuss? I mean, it was not as if anyone got hurt. My pride was all that took a beating out there.” She took a large drink and turned back to smile her apology—his eyes really were a lovely shade of green.

“That is what you call an apology?” He arched one brow and waited.

“Aye. If you wish me to grovel, I am afraid you will find yourself disappointed.”

“Just so we are clear, you may not fear your father’s wrath, but you may count me amongst the lot that do,” Lothair said.

“Fine. I apologize,” she said and sounded as bored as possible doing so. If he wanted to be the world’s most tight-lipped dullard this evening, she would give him a challenge for the title.

“That first low hit to my shin was earned. You have learned a few useful tactics at least.” The corner of his lips twinged up in a half smile before returning to his cup. “Yet you will never improve your skill by not trusting the instruction of your sword master.”

Her defensive shield dropped with his halfhearted compliment. Katia felt herself drawn in like a fish on a hook, tilting her head in his direction. “That is why I had to take the risk this morning. I could not pass over the chance to learn more,” she whispered. He actually smiled—a full, face-splitting smile. It took her breath away and sent a strange surge to her toes and the tips of her ears.

“I can demonstrate a few countering moves that my instructor taught me when I was at a height disadvantage. The men from the south are smaller than in the north, hence we use vastly different training methods. Brute strength is not always an advantage. My Castillian sword master is not much larger than you and he moves with such speed that I have never come across his equal. He can put down four men before one has a chance to raise his blade.”

“You would show me? Truly?” Suddenly it felt like they were the only two people in the hall. The noise of the feast melted away, and her ears trained on his every word.

“I would have shown you today if I’d known who you were and you asked. The duke has brought his swordsmen to exchange ideas to strengthen both armies.” He only glanced at her occasionally as he spoke. “I believe women have the right to be taught to handle a blade. Every person traveling the Baltic waters should have the means to protect themselves against a pirate attack.”

“That is what I think!” Katia sat up straighter. “But the Baltic waters are safe. I sail them often with my father. ’Tis the poor Gulf of Finland that is plagued with the Slavic and Rus knaves. I assure you, Sweden’s coast is secure.”

Lothair gave a short laugh. “Traveling surrounded by a dozen warships flying the Jarl of Tronscar’s colors, I should think you arrive safe.”

She scowled at his mocking delivery.

“Pray tell me, little iron princess, what is the exact difference between a Dane or Swede raiding party and a Rus pirate ship?”

She crossed her arms, jerked her head up, and said, “You know what I meant. I will not speak for Denmark, but Sweden on a whole is secure. Our jarls work hard to provide order and security.”

“Yet from a glance, do they not all look the same? They have the same great-grandsires you know,” Lothair challenged. “Same blood as a Norman, Dane, Norwegian, and Swede. Norse Vikings have left their mark on each coast they plundered. Rus legends boast of ancestry from the great Norse Varagian Guard, and surely even your maiden ears have heard tales of their Novgorod origins, which all claim heritage to your fine Swedish shore. Be they Slavic or Rus, or descendants from your very own Swedish grandsires, one and all now take their turns pirating our waters.”

“No one chooses their sire. Nor is a forefather responsible for all his offspring. The past is the past. We are all Christian in the north, unlike some Estonian-, Slavic-, and Rus-held lands that cling to their devil worship. Why, Uppsala was just consecrated and made into an archdiocese by Rome last month. Sweden has its very own archbishop now, or hadn’t you heard? Neither the church, nor the king, nor my father would ever stand for Swedish piracy. They would face equal judgment to any murderer or thief.”

He chuckled, slowly shaking his head and said more quietly, “Your father is a powerful warlord, I’ll grant you that, but he does not control the world, nor the sea. We live in dangerous times,
princess
,” he said. “Thanks to the present warring rival kings, your father has tripled his wealth selling weapons made from his superior steel. Are you quite certain he desires peace? Law and order would be bad for business, would it not?”

She drew in a sharp breath through her nose. “My father does not make weapons because he desires war. It is what his allies demand, what his king demands. He would much rather make tools for plowing and steel to build stronger fortresses and—” She stopped speaking as Lothair’s face was ripe with amusement. She could tell he was not taking a single word she was saying seriously. “
What?
”

“Nothing.” He returned to his meal, smirking.

“Tell me,” she demanded, her body twitching with irritation.

“Which king or king-pretender does your father serve this season? You are too young to understand the true nature of corrupt political minds.” He leaned in closer. “Do not fret, iron princess, most maidens are too soft to understand such complex matters.” He was looking at her again—really looking at her this time.

“I am not too soft,” she said, her voice rising with her temper. Why the devil did she agree to wear pink?

“But you are.” His eyes sparkled with mischief. He was enjoying her flaring temper far too much. She suddenly realized he was teasing her.