“How will I know when that will be?”
“You will know, Father. Go now, Mother waits.”
I kiss them quickly on their foreheads, promising to return soon. But in the interim, Aunt Sigrith will watch over them.
This is the last time I leave my boys, I vow as I quickly enter the stables and undress. I tie the belt and affix the crucifix from the rope as I’ve seen the brothers do, then untie the fastest horse. I mount him but am surprised when someone mounts the horse beside me.
He, too, wears a robe.
“No,” I firmly state to “Brother” Ulf. “You will blow our cover even before we leave the monastery.”
“You cannot go in there alone. We have one chance to do this and do it right. We owe Emeline that,” he replies, and his tenacity is clear.
I don’t have time to fight him on this, so I cluck my tongue and tug on the reins, launching into a wild gallop. Ulf soon follows, as we both know time is of the essence because our window is small and there is no room for error.
We leave our horses and follow the procession of mourners into the church where Emeline’s ceremony is to take place. Soldiers from Wessex, Northumbria, and Mercia line the street, watching for anything suspicious.
Both Ulf and I bury ourselves deeper under our hoods and adjust our face coverings so only our eyes are visible. It is a sign of respect when in mourning for the brothers to wear such a covering, so we blend in.
The king has made Emeline’s funeral a public affair. The reason for this is not because he is gracious. He does this as a strategy to appear kindhearted and forgiving, and to have his people witness with their own eyes that Emeline is dead, thereby cementing his status as the only monarch.
He has tarnished her reputation, stating that she incited a war because she wished to change religion and denounce their one God, believing in many.
It’s all horseshit and lies, so the people worship him and villainize Emeline.
I do not have a plan as such, but all I need is a sword and a clear shot, and Aethelbald will pay for what he did to Emeline. It’s not the death I want for him, but I will have to settle for this.
Bells commence ringing, and an awful clove incense can be smelled. Ulf and I try to fit in, but it’s difficult not to stab all these fake arseholes in the jugulars because they failed Emeline. All too weak and narrow-minded to grow a pair and follow her instead of Aethelbald because of his gender.
Other brothers are here, so we excuse ourselves, but when I get closer to the altar and see Emeline’s elaborate wooden coffin laid out in front of it, I stop, needing a moment.
Or two.
She looks as if she's merely sleeping, draped in a gold dress. Her long hair is brushed, and a crown sits atop her head. Her hands are interlocked under her breasts. Flowers adorn the inside of the coffin, which is lined with white silk.
She would have hated this because instead of flowers, my warrior would have wanted a sword.
Even though she is mere feet away, I cannot accept that she is dead. My brain can’t comprehend what I am seeing.
No longer will I hear my name fall from her soft lips. Nor will I feel her touch. Hear her laughter. No longer will I look into those eyes and find my home.
I want to kill every person in here…
Ulf places his hand on my back, ushering me forward because I suddenly cannot breathe.
My hugrekki lies in a casket, her light forever extinguished. What sort of bullshit ending is this?
The bells stop chiming, and the crowd hushes when a young lass walks down the aisle, tossing red rose petals, paving the path for the king.
The moment I see Aethelbald, a rage so fierce overcomes me, and I taste blood. He wears furs and dons jewels. He appears somber. It’s all for show, of course. All I see is his victory in every arrogant step he takes.
He stops by Emeline’s casket and places a kiss on her forehead.
“Use your head and not your heart,” Ulf whispers, holding me back as he grips my bicep.
He’s right, but every part of me demands vengeance, and for it to be bloody. But all in due time.
Once Aethelbald is done with his facade, he takes his seat on the throne and waits for the priest to deliver his sermon.
