The next morning, before sunrise, Ada stormed into the sacrificial chamber with Lucia. Ada had filled Lucia in on the, according to her, “sacrilegious events” that had happened during the night. Ragnvei had said she wanted to be let out of her commitment in escorting Queen Maud. Apparently Gunnar, her lover, had snuck into the room through the window, bypassing the guards, and tried to talk her out of it.
“I have spoken to King Olav about Ragnvei, and I want you to know two things,” Ada said, speaking to the two handmaidens. “One, we will move ahead with the burial regardless of Ragnvei’s hesitation, and two, because of Ragnvei’s conduct, you will be sacrificed in the most painful way possible, so we can regain the gods’ favor.”
“No!” Ragnvei fell to her knees and clasped her hands together. “Please, please do not do this! Just let me go. I want to live, especially now that I know Gunnar loves me. He told me so himself.”
Ada smacked Ragnvei’s hands down. “I heard he visited you last night. He should be put to death for having meddled with my sacred rituals. I will not entertain a handmaiden’s wish when the doom of Midgard is at stake. There is nothing quite so dishonorable as offending the queen’s precious name. Her burial is a serious matter, not one to be trifled with, or made into a mockery.” She stepped closer to Ragnvei. “You do not deserve to live, you thoughtless, undisciplined, pitiful woman. You are a taker—no, a thief, defaming the queen’s good name. It is actually better for you and society that you are dead.”
Thinking Ada’s words were a little harsh, Lucia placed her hands on Ragnvei’s shoulders, and said, “However, if she will move forward with the right outlook, she will be remembered as a true hero in all the Northlandic Kingdom. Would you agree, Ada?”
Ada paused. “Well—yes,” she finally said.
Ragnvei’s glanced up at Lucia, her eyes turning dazed and lifeless as if she had just realized death was inescapable.
Ada huffed. “It is an honor to die this way. And remember, no virtue is higher than honor.” Ada took Lucia’s arm and led her into the hallway. “Now, we dress your mother,” she said.
Arriving at the door to the queen’s chamber, Lucia’s stomach tied into knots. “May I have a minute?” she asked Ada.
“Yes, but do hurry,” Ada said, squeezing through the double doors.
She did not want to go inside, did not want to face her mother’s dead body, fearing the lifeless image might be all she would remember forever. She traced the intricate workmanship on the copper doors with her fingers. The wooden doorframe was carved with serpents, dragons and swirly Norse patterns, and was decorated with warriors holding their weapons, standing in their extended longships. Southerners consider us Vik people just because we share the same land. She thought it hideous to be associated with those berserkers.
Ada stuck her head in through the door crack. “Well, come on then—”
“Yes,” Lucia said, feeling exhaustion set in. She had barely slept at all last night, afraid she would be visited by mare demons, who would fill her nights with visions of her dying mother.
Lucia entered the death chamber, and as the double doors closed behind her with a thud, she jumped. She saw her mother lying in her bed, lifeless and gray, just as she had envisioned. Every particle in her body told her to run—run far away from this horrific scene.
Ada wasted no time and began directing the servants, handmaidens, and seamstresses, stalking their every move as they scurried to and fro, attempting to fulfill the angel of death’s every request.
“Oil for the queen,” Ada said, approaching Lucia. She muttered a blessing over the small glass bottle and handed it to her. “Cover every part, and I mean every part, of your mother’s body with this.”
Lucia stiffened.
“Do it now!” Ada grabbed her by the hand and pulled her toward the corpse. “Your mother’s spirit needs to know you approve of her leaving Midgard. You must let her go, Lucia, or she will be miserable forever, wandering the realm of the humans when she should be celebrating with the gods. Think of her—not of yourself. You do want her to be happy, do you not?”
The thought of letting her mother go was like a stab to the heart. But Lucia still nodded.
Ada opened the flask and poured some of its contents into Lucia’s hands. “Like so.” She took Lucia’s hands and placed them onto Queen Maud’s cold, blue skin, rubbing the sweet-smelling oil onto it.
After a few strokes, Lucia started to feel lightheaded and queasy. “May I step out? I am feeling quite ill.”
“No, no, no, no! We must finish the preparation of the body,” Ada said.
Just then, Lucia vomited all over the floor and her black dress.
Ada huffed. “Am I surrounded by incapable helpers? Pull yourselves together! You—” She pointed to one of the handmaidens. “Clean this mess up.” She turned to Lucia, a look of disgust on her face. “I expect you to contain yourself, you hear? Now, go change. Nora, you go with her.”
Helping Lucia into the long-sleeved, floor-length, crimson gown, Nora said, “Try not to think about death, Lucia. It will all soon be over.” Her voice trembled, her hands shook, and as she pinned the gold brooch onto Lucia’s chest, Nora pricked her finger.
The old handmaiden said nothing even though Lucia knew it must have hurt. She was bleeding. A single drop of blood fell onto the wooden floor before Nora put the wounded finger into her mouth, preventing more blood from spilling.
Lucia gazed into the full-length mirror and noted how the dress looked blood-red against her fair skin. And then a thought popped into her mind. It is a sign from the gods, she thought. I was not supposed to wear a black dress to the funeral. All of a sudden it was crystal clear and she did not understand why she had not thought of it before.
White for purity.
Green for everlasting life.
Red for how her mother had bled to death, just like her mother’s god’s blood had been spilt on the cross. But more importantly, red for the Aesira blood they shared.
After Lucia was dressed, Nora said, “I can imagine, Your Majesty, that this is a very difficult time for you.”
Lucia glanced at her handmaiden’s reflection in the mirror.
“Whatever you need of me in the coming days and years, I am your humble servant,” Nora said. “If you need me to escort your mother back to Valhalla, I will do that. If you need someone to talk to, I will be a listening ear. I will serve you with the same fervor as I served your mother.”
Nora had been the most loyal of servants, and there was a reason why her mother had chosen her, although Lucia did not know why. Perhaps it was because she was wise or kind or a good friend. But then a thought came to her. Was Nora afraid she might lose her position? A woman of her age and without a family would have nothing to live for, and maybe this was her way to try and secure her position. To take advantage of me while I am at my weakest.
No matter what, and despite Nora’s advanced age, Lucia planned to keep her on when she became queen. Only time will tell how true Nora really is. How true any of my subordinates are.
Maud’s body was fully clothed by the time they returned to the queen’s chamber. Her new burial outfit was an intricately hand-stitched dress made from the finest indigo silk. On her feet, they had placed pointy, silk slippers, embroidered with Maud’s name on them.
Ada commanded a team of handmaidens and guards to lift Maud onto her deathbed. Once she had been moved, they draped the lower half of her body with silk sheets.
“Now, her hair,” Ada said. “It needs to be combed, and then these flowers need to be interlaced like so.” She showed them.
The handmaidens combed the queen's long, golden hair until it shone like strands of sunlight. Next they picked up the wicker baskets containing the white wax flowers, and intertwined them through her tresses.
Feeling braver than before, Lucia stepped closer. Dare she add a few flowers? Her mother looked so peaceful where she rested—almost appearing to be sleeping—and she thought maybe if she shook her vigoro
usly enough, she could wake her. “Where are you now?” A single tear rolled down her cheek as she picked up a flower and secured it behind her mother’s ear. Wherever she was, she was not here.
When they finished, Ada summoned Olav.
“Your father refuses to come,” Vilda said as she entered the chamber, her large chest rising and falling with each labored breath. “And he refuses to say why.”
How could he be so cold-hearted? Yet the truth was Lucia did not know whether she was happy or relieved about the news. The less time she spent with her father, the better, although she did not enjoy Vilda’s company either. In fact, she wished her aunt would move out of the castle and stop being the leech she was. The first thing she would do after she married Soren, was to evict both her father and Vilda.
“Oh, and he told me to tell you that Soren will not be coming to the burial,” Vilda said. “He is in the Southlandic Kingdom again, fulfilling a commission.”
Lucia had only met her betrothed on a few occasions. She was glad she would not have to worry about entertaining him during the worst time of her life, especially since he had a tendency to annoy her. Whenever he would speak to her, he was too friendly, acting as if they were best friends. It was not that he had ever acted inappropriately; he was simply a few shades too informal.
Just as the morning rays beamed through the stained-glass window and upon the corpse, Ada told everyone it was time to start the procession.
Lucia’s stomach clenched in sudden desperation when she realized she would never again see her mother. If she could just keep her here a little bit longer, maybe her insides would not feel as if they were being torn apart. Just a few more minutes, and maybe she would be able to let go without feeling as if she were dying herself. Peering into her mother’s eyes, she lifted her mother’s cold, lifeless hand, and pressed it to her lips.
“I will never forget you. I will make you proud of me, and when we meet again, I swear to you I will murder anyone who will dare to try and keep us apart.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as her shoulders rocked with silent sobs.
* * *