It would be best to appeal to the queen’s motherly side, she’d decided. Signe had, after all, proclaimed to be ‘like a mother’ to Saga.
“Come in, darling,” carried Signe’s cool voice.
Saga lowered her mental barriers to free her Sense and forced herself forward. The queen was seated in one of two fur-draped armchairs arranged by the largest of the hearths. Before her was a small table of polished marble, set with two silvergoblets. Sinking into the empty chair, Saga folded her hands in her lap and gazed cautiously at Signe.
…desperation does not become our poor Saga, wafted Signe’s thoughts.
“Wine, darling?” the queen asked aloud. She wore an ivory gown, trimmed with hundreds of glacial pearls, her white-gold hair twined into a crown of braids upon her head. “Imported from the Southern Continent,” Signe continued.
…and a gift from the Zagadkian party,thought Signe, waving the cupbearer over to fill the two goblets.
“My thanks, Your Highness,” she murmured, eyeing the burgundy liquid. It was the lone spot of color in this whole room, aside from Saga’s wrinkled blue dress.
Signe took a sip. “Oh, my,” she murmured, her smile spreading.
…I see there is something redeemable about these Zagadkians after all, thought the queen, her gaze landing heavily on Saga. “What can I help you with, darling?”
Setting her goblet down, she looked Signe straight on. “Your Highness, I’ve come to discuss my engagement.”
…and now I shall savor the sweetness of this moment…
Saga’s stomach twisted, but she forced herself to remain still.
With a long sigh, Signe watched her impassively. “Mmm. An abrupt change in plans, I know, darling. But I think we can both agree, Magnus is a far better match for you.”
…she deserves worse for shaming my Little Bear…
“You see, Your Highness,” began Saga. “I don’t feel it is a particularly good match.”
Signe hummed, taking another sip of her wine. “An older husband is not such a bad thing, you know. A man like Magnus can teach you a thing or two, darling.”
…about pain and about power. About playing within the rules. Magnus excels at such things…
Saga pressed a hand to her stomach to steady the wave of revulsion that crashed through her. “I don’t…that’s not…”
“You know, Saga, we are so very alike,” interrupted Signe. “And I am nothing if not a champion of women.”
…I have plans for this kingdom. To make it better—to grant power back to those who are weakest…
Startled, Saga stared at the queen, trying to glean meaning from her thoughts.
Signe’s lips tilted up in the corners. “We could have been allies, you and I. It’s a shame you didn’t heed my warnings, Saga. Things could have turned out differently for you.”
...but I cannot allow anyone to impede my plans. It’s unfortunate she’s proven to be such a deceitful little thing…
Saga pushed on, despite the cold pit growing in her stomach. “You have the power, Your Highness. Please. You’ve been like a mother to me.”
“Hmm,” said Signe, watching her carefully. “You know, darling, I’m reminded of a story.” The queen waved over the cupbearer, who refreshed her wine in an instant. “’Tis a Norvalander tale my father once told me. A children’s fable about two little mice.”
Saga took a small sip, feigning interest.
“It begins with a kind brown mouse, happy in her little hole in the wall. One day, the brown mouse spies a white mouse fleeing from a cat. ‘Here!’ cries the little brown mouse, making space in her hole. The white mouse dashes into the hole in the very nick of time, narrowly missing a swipe of the cat’s paw.”
Signe brought her cup to her lips, taking a delicate sip. “The brown mouse offered nothing but hospitality to the white mouse, sharing her evening meal, and allowing the white mouse to stay until she recovered from her fright. But the white mouse was not such a kindly creature. She stayed longer than she was welcome. Ate more than her share. And was careless in the little hole. One day, the brown mouse returned to discover her home crumbling to bits. With great sadness, the brown mouse was forced to leave and search for a new one.”
Saga stared at the queen’s lips—wine had stained them berry-red, stark against Signe’s pale skin. “It took quite some time, but the brown mouse eventually found a new hole. It wasn’t a few days later, she spotted that same white mouse running from the cat. And this time, the brown mouse did not offer her home as a safe refuge.”
Signe’s ice-blue eyes bored into Saga’s. “Why do you think I was reminded of this story, darling?”
