A Queen Named Victory

Chapter Eight

Although he teased of living humbly in an empty cave, he clearly came from a life of some luxury. His black cloak had hand-spun lace at the inner base. He also had finely polished leather boots, and his hairless face meant he regularly shaved. He lived in enough comfort to ensure my family's safety and maybe a monthly stipend. Half of my bridal funds were to be immediately sent to my family.

I added my intimate desires to my list. No heirs. There was absolutely no way I would manage having another miniature version of him running around with my sanity in their grubby little hands. Then there was the matter of my complete independence to travel and leave his side as I pleased. That was the first request that he challenged.

"Lastly." I held a single finger. "You will never use your name magic to command me to do your bidding." He showed me how easy it was for him to force humans and animals to bend to his will.

"I'll kill myself if you try," I threatened.

The Dimikyr blew a low whistle while he looked down at the parchment painted with his scribbles. "So, you did all this just to strike a new deal."

I responded with a quick nod.

He sighed, "I suppose it cannot be helped. You have my word."

My memory failed me after I signed the contract. My mind and body lasted for as long as they could until they surrendered to exhaustion. When my eyes opened, I woke surrounded by lush furs and blankets. A gentle breeze from a hole in the wall blew the curtains forward and let in an unnatural glow.

"Oh dear, you gave me a fright!"

A plump middle-aged servant rested her hand on her chest momentarily after entering the room. She was different than my Dimikyr groom. Most notably, she lacked his long nails that were sharpened to perfection. Thickly braided hair sat in an organized ball on top of her head. She placed the fabric down on a bench at the end of the wall, then said through a thick accent, "Your bath is ready. We have much to prepare. Hurry, hurry."

With that being said, she shooed me out of the bed. More attendants filtered through the room with jars, pins of all shapes and sizes, every type of precious metal known to man, and an array of traditional attire. He was more important than I originally assumed.

The women—ranging from a variety of unique features, such as goat eyes to tufts of fur on their bellies and tails—scrubbed me down from head to toe. Their rich soaps bubbled in the large natural stone bath. Fresh flowers floated in the water along with scattered herbs. Two twin maids murmured magic incantations with their palms facing the water while others chatted in their language. A small pang pinched my heart. I wondered if Ingrid enjoyed a warm bath by the fire. Did she get enough rest? Did Ulf fill his belly with buttered bread and honey? I pulled my knees to my chest and admired my clean healed hands. If only his magic healed the inner pain plaguing my heart as it did the physical.

I sighed.

Dimikyr nobles were a lazy bunch. The attendants refused to let me bathe myself outside of my intimate regions. One scrubbed my back as another used a rough fabric square to wash my legs. They erupted into squealing giggles when they reached my ticklish feet and neck. The main attendant I first met lost her third brush to her war with my fiery curls. Even after heavy conditioning, they troubled the attendant.

She finally organized my hair into an elaborate swirl of carefully interwoven braids adorned with jeweled pins that had dangling green stones. "Oh, you missed a hair," I noted as I scratched the back of my neck. She moved my hand away from the strand before I could pluck it.

"You need it for the ceremony," she informed.

From there the women massaged my body with oils. They scrubbed me again with what seemed like large salt crystals then waved incense smoke towards my naked body. The causal aura shifted into a rigid routine. They sat me down over a stone slab and recited soft songs while they pestled burnt cedar woodchips and dried lavender in mortars.

Three cloaked figures entered the room after the women cleared out. They placed three flat stones in front of me and motioned for me to pick. The first circular design included intertwined berry vines with blossoming flowers. The one on the far left had too many sharp angles. It had the same pattern as snowflakes. "May I?" I pointed to the charcoal stick they used to draft the designs. The person holding the stones turned to their peers, then allowed me to do what I desired with the burnt stick.

I incorporated my mother's protective wolf into the outer rim of the interwoven barrier. It bared its sharp fangs defensively with a trail of three smaller wolves. I shortened the distance from the smaller inner circle to include a circle of snow flowers with bearded wheat kernels for my brother's love of toasted bread. The cloaked people were just as pleased with my design. They laid me down on the slab and began the process.

The pain of a raging wasp nest stabbed my skin. It shifted between short pricks to long slashing that they set ablaze when they rubbed the ground ashes into my freshly cut wounds. They poured scented herbal tea over my belly to clean away the remaining blood and pigment. In the end, they used their magic to heal the cuts until there was nothing left but a permanent brand on my skin.