Midnight Soul (18 page)

I did not share that I’d be quite interested
in going to his world and seeing these fantastical contraptions at
work.

I also did not share that it was not cute to
laugh at someone who was ignorant about something for reasons not
in their control.

I just looked out the side of the sleigh, not
noticing the houses and buildings and people we sledded by, and
barely noticing the whoosh of our transport, the one behind us, and
the clomp of the many horses’ hooves in the snow.

But I did vaguely sense that many watched us
pass.

Then again, we were a grand procession with a
king, a queen, a prince, princesses and The Drakkar. But even if it
was only Dax Lahn, the fellow was such a sight to see with his
large body, long, bunched hair, fierce face with its abundant dark
beard and unusual clothing made of hide, all would stop to
watch.

Truth be told, I wished to watch him ride. I
was certain he’d be good at it (though, that wasn’t the only reason
I wished to do this, as fierce as he was, he was most assuredly
pleasing to the eye).

“You’re right,” Noc muttered, pulling me from
my thoughts of the Dax, and I felt his arm round my waist so my
head snapped around to look up at him again, seeing he appeared
contrite. “Wasn’t cool, us busting a gut like that. You don’t know.
And there’s all sorts of shit about your world that I don’t get or
know about. I probably wouldn’t like it much if I said something
you thought was funny and you laughed in my face.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t cool, Franka, really
sorry,” Cora chimed in.

I did not know how to take this. Outside of a
servant making a mistake and apologizing to me for doing so (as
they should), I didn’t think anyone had ever apologized to me.
Certainly not when they’d done something wrong or hurtful. And
absolutely not admitting they understood they’d done so and moving
verbally to rectify that hurt.

“You cool?” Noc asked.

In that moment I did not wish to get into the
fact that their usage of “cool” was like Noc’s usage of “shit” and
“fuck” and a variety of others. In other words, these were all used
frequently but with what seemed like different meanings.

We spoke the same language but it still felt
like I was cast adrift in a foreign land with only a modicum of
understanding of the native tongue and I had to decipher all with
only the barest of foundations.

Nevertheless, the way they’d both used
“cool,” I could only assume he meant to ask if I was over my
pique.

I was not, of course, but that didn’t
factor.

“Yes, Noc, I’m fine,” I lied.

His lips quirked, his eyes didn’t leave mine,
and he murmured, “You so aren’t.”

I faced forward again.

This allowed Noc’s lips a direct line to my
ear, and I fancied I could actually feel them whisper against the
skin there, causing a chill to race down my spine that was not
chilly in the slightest as he said, “Also cute.”

Considering where his mouth was, he couldn’t
see my face. Therefore, I rolled my eyes.

I felt him pull away.

I decided silence was my best course of
action for the rest of the journey (and the return one).

However, this was the wrong decision.

Although Noc and Cora chatted amiably
together the entire distance, both of them made frequent attempts
to draw me into their conversation, to which I was not rude, just
short or monosyllabic, and they eventually let me be, leaving me in
my head.

This was not a good place to be, especially
these last nine days.

If I was honest with myself—something I
tended not to be for reasons of self-preservation, but even more so
the last week—I would have admitted that their company, any of
them, was a boon. It kept me out of my head. It kept me away from
melancholic, ashamed or anxious thoughts of what had befallen me
and what was to come.

But now, as we sledged ever closer to the
jail (a place I had no idea where it was so I didn’t know exactly
how close it was, just that we were moving, so naturally we were
getting closer), I wondered why I’d decided to visit my
parents.

Yes, I was where I was. Healing. Standing.
Free. And they were where they were, imprisoned, their rights
stripped, my mother’s magic stripped, their abundance of pride and
conceit likely (hopefully) being chipped away day to day.

But what was to be gained from this
visit?

And further, what could be lost?

They had power over me. They always did. I
didn’t have to admit that to myself. It was a fact I’d lived with
since I could ruminate. That power they wielded whether I was young
or old, near or far.

Would their being in a jail change that?

Would my confronting them somehow be turned
on me and cause more shame?

These were the thoughts that plagued me not
only during our journey but at the end of it, through Noc assisting
me out of the sleigh and while we made our way to the front door of
the jail.

Frey opened the door, Finnie on his arm. They
swept through followed by Lahn and Circe, then Noc and I, and we
were trailed by Tor and Cora.

By the time we made our way through the door,
Frey was speaking with someone who looked official and was wearing
a city guard uniform of brown leather shorts, thick brown
stockings, high brown boots and a warm-looking brown sweater with
deep-red epaulets stitched in along the shoulders.

The moment Noc and I entered, both men’s eyes
came to me.

Unexpectedly, I had the instant desire to
bolt. In order not to do it, I made my body lock.

Noc felt it.

“Frannie?” he called quietly.

My gaze shot to his. “Do I look all
right?”

In the many “nevers” that I’d experienced
happening recently, this was another.

I’d never asked a soul that question.

And in my heart I knew I looked nothing but
like I always looked. Josette made sure of that, going extra
distance considering where I was heading, fashioning the lovely
chignon she’d fastened at my nape and selecting the perfect
accessories for my ensemble. It was also she who’d decided on the
wine-colored gown that skimmed my figure beautifully, showing only
a hint of cleavage at the square neckline, the subtle, thin,
vertical cable-knit at my midriff, waist and hips giving the
impression that entire area was nipped in and tiny.

She’d also chosen my most expensive, most
fabulous cloak. A luscious, luminous sable, its high collar when
flipped up (as it was not now) covered not just my neck but up
beyond my ears.

I knew all this.

But I did not.

And when I asked this question of Noc, he had
an odd reaction.

His expression grew soft and kind (er) and he
turned into me so we were front to front, close, dipping his chin
into his throat to bring his face near, all the while holding my
eyes.

“You look beautiful, Franka. You always look
beautiful. Your cheeks flushed from being out in the cold, your
eyes brighter because the pain is subsiding, you look more
beautiful than yesterday and the day before, and I could go on with
that.” His hand that was covering my fingers he’d curled inside his
elbow tightened as his lips tipped up reassuringly. “It’s all
good.”

I heard his words and yet I did not.

And it didn’t matter that I did and did
not.

I promptly and fretfully asked him another
question.

“Can you tell I still have pain? When I
move,” I hastened to add. “Or even stand,” I kept at it. “Can you
tell,” I got up on my toes, “
at all
?”

“No, baby,” he whispered hearteningly. “You
can’t tell at all. Where you were, where you are now, every day
I’ve thought it. You may just be the strongest woman I’ve met.”

My hand reached up and clamped over his
sweater at his biceps, curling around, but in my state I didn’t
notice the hardness of muscle underneath his wool.

“You aren’t saying these things just to
soothe me, are you?” I pressed.

He shook his head. “No way. Truth. All of it,
Frannie. Swear to God.”

I stayed right where I was,
this close
to Noc, holding on to his arm, but I turned my head toward where
Frey was still standing, beyond which was a passageway that seemed
dim and bleak.

Noc’s free arm slid carefully along my waist
and my attention returned to him when he stated firmly, “If you’re
having second thoughts, we’re outta here.”

I stared up into his eyes.

They’d all come. Out in the cold, they’d all
come. To be there with me.

To be there
for
me.

And Noc was right there, close, holding me,
reassuring me.

For his part, he wouldn’t have let me go
without him.

I might be a new Franka Drakkar, and she was
a woman I didn’t yet understand.

What I did understand was that I had to do
this.

But this time it was not for my brother.

It was for me.

“You wanna do it, we’re with you,” Noc went
on, and I again focused on him. “The final chapter, Frannie. The
end of that book. Period. Dot. You’re done. You do this, you show
them they didn’t break you, they
never
broke you,
sweetheart, you walk away, close that book and move on.”

I heard every one of those words said in his
strong, deep, rough but luxuriant voice, and they somehow seemed to
sink into my flesh, my muscle, my heart, lungs, innards, all this
forcing my scabbed-over back straight.

They’d never broken me.

I was free. My brother and I were safe.

And they were there. In that dismal, bleak
place, a version of which they’d be in for the rest of their
lives.

“You’re correct, Noc,” I stated smartly.

“Fuck yeah, I am,” he replied on a grin.

I squared my shoulders. “I’m ready.”

“Right.” This came as a determined growl, and
he bent his face even closer to mine. “Then let’s do this.”

I nodded. Noc took that in, slid his hand
from my waist and turned us both toward Frey, Finnie and the guard.
As he did, he lifted his arm where I held his elbow and drew it and
my hand in to hold them tight to the front side of his chest.

“She’s good to go,” he announced to Frey.

Frey watched Noc say this before he turned
his eyes and studied me.

And then he said something that if Noc wasn’t
holding me up would have set me on my behind.

“For the first time in my life, you’ve made
me proud to be a Drakkar.”

I heard a little pip that I assumed came from
Cora, who had closed in at my left side. It sounded like she was
fighting back a sob.

What I saw was Finnie smiling at me so
largely it had to hurt her face.

My eyes drifting from Finnie, Frey’s words
warming my belly, my anxiety fully left me and my surroundings came
to me.

I saw the building was not made of wood but
cold, dull, colorless stone. There were iron bars that stood as a
door to the passageway. The room we were in had several wooden
chairs that lined the walls but did not invite you to relax and
pass the time. There was also a high desk at an angle in the right
corner where two men wearing city guard uniforms (but with black
epaulets) were clearly on a riser for they towered feet above us,
lording over the small room. And there were intermittent, round
iron hooks on the walls, some with chains and manacles hanging from
them, obviously where prisoners were shackled prior to being led to
their accommodation in the back.

Thinking that there was a great likelihood my
parents had been fettered thus, I felt a swell of wicked glee
surging up my throat that I felt no shame about whatsoever.

The guard Frey had been speaking with moved
to the bar door, jingling a large loop filled with keys.

He found one, opened the door, and with Noc
and I following Frey and Finnie, the rest following us, we walked
through.

The first section beyond the doors had two
more guards in their guard clothing, one on each side of the space
behind desks. Behind the men there was cabinetry, one side looking
like it held drawers where files were kept, the other side with an
abundance of locks, which meant they likely housed weapons.

They looked up at us and stood instantly, at
first putting their fist to the underside of their chin, a salute
to The Drakkar, then pressing themselves into bows in deference to
their Ice Princess, Finnie.

They stayed in this position as our
procession walked by their desks and into the wide walkway
beyond.

In this area there was a line of cells to
each side.

The first two sets of cells, left and right,
were empty.

The third to the left held a man who appeared
(and an unsavory whiff of him and the unconscious belch he emitted
with poor timing as we passed proved this assumption) to be
sleeping off a drunken binge.

Another two sets of cells were empty, which I
found vaguely surprising. Fyngaard was not a small city. Surely
there must be more ruffians running amuck than this.

There was only one other cell filled with a
man wearing bad clothes, having clearly not taken care of his teeth
over the years, as openly shown to us as he sneered at us from his
bunk. This also was apparent in the care of his hair, which was
long and lank but looked like the last time it had been clipped,
this had been done haphazardly with the side of a knife.

A dull one.

I only viewed him curiously before I looked
again to Frey’s and Finnie’s backs as we made our way down the
passage.

I had warning when we’d neared my mother and
father, this a glance by Frey over his shoulder at me.

I lifted my chin. His lips tilted up. He
looked forward then right.

I looked right as well.

Noc drew me even nearer.

My mother lay in that cell, her finery gone,
no soft lamb’s wool, angora or cashmere gown covering her
still-youthful figure. She was wearing a rough, boxy shift with
long sleeves, belted with what appeared to be rope, visibly coarse
stockings and crude, tie-up leather boots.