The messenger will likely die in an attempt to reach Årud Helle to update the islanders who wait for their commands. Few messengers have reached the other islands alive. It was only in the early days of the rebellion that we were able to contact them and share our updates and plans. It’s been nearly two weeks since we last heard from any of the other islands. Tuve acknowledges Malthe’s order with a nod, and the older man dismisses us, but Marieke interrupts. “Wait. There’s still a point we need to discuss.”
Malthe doesn’t hide his impatience. He understands which point Marieke means.
“We can’t just leave her in this manor,” Marieke insists. “What will we do with Elskerinde Rose?”
“You still call her an Elskerinde,” Kjerstin notes. Kjerstin is younger, only nineteen years old. Her hair is plaited and falls down her back and shoulders. Her skin is a warm brown that gives a feeling of the sun as it sets, sky red and orange with fire. The same fire is in her brown eyes. Even with a face she keeps blank, trying to hide any emotion and expression from us, I have the sense that she’s laughing at everyone around her. She laughs because it’s amusing to her that we think we’ll win this insurrection against the Fjern, when it’s obvious to her that we will all die.
“It’s an old habit,” Marieke says with an apologetic tone. “I would always call her Sigourney when I spoke to her directly, but in the company of others…” She doesn’t finish her sentence. It doesn’t matter now. She looks at each of us expectantly.
“We know what you would like to do with Elskerinde Rose,” Kjerstin says. She doesn’t speak with kindness. She doesn’t respect Marieke. Kjerstin feels Marieke is an old woman who still has love for her master. A master who should be dead, no matter the color of her skin. “You would like to bathe her and dress her wounds and give her the warm spot on your bed. Even though you’re free, you’re still a slave.”
“Watch yourself,” Olina says. “If it weren’t for Marieke, the revolt wouldn’t have happened at all.”
Marieke’s arms, wrinkled in their age, are tense. Though I can’t see them, her fists must be clenched in her lap. Her gaze meets mine. She hopes that I’ll agree with her. I’ve shown Sigourney Rose mercy before.
“The girl is a distraction,” Geir tells us. “So is the other we keep in the dungeons. Patrika Årud.” The Elskerinde Årud had attempted to leave Hans Lollik Helle before the night of the uprising, along with many other surviving kongelig. Our ships were waiting for the attacks at sea, and the woman was brought back to the royal island in chains. We thought perhaps that she could be used as leverage, but Geir believes it would have been better to simply kill her. “Lothar Niklasson will have no need for either of them, and the people of this island are angry that they still live. We lose our people’s respect with every passing day that the two kongelig still live.”
Some on the island underestimate Geir. He seems too distant and distracted, his eyes glazed. But while his eyes suggest his mind is elsewhere, I see the sharpness in him. He notices every detail, every twitch and breath. The man has a mind for strategy. Geir promises us that he has no kraft, but he lies. He’s met my eyes as we dissected the maps of Hans Lollik, discussing which way the sea turns and which island of the Fjern would be best to attack first. He looks at me, having already realized that I can sense his kraft because of the power that I hold. His kraft seeps into me, and I see the answers appear before me: Yes, the current would take us directly to Solberg Helle, but this is what the Fjern would anticipate. They would be ready for us, but they wouldn’t think that we’d be willing to sacrifice guards—our people—on a battle that we would lose. The best strategy would be to sacrifice our people in a plan to distract the Fjern as we simultaneously send guards directly to Niklasson Helle while their defenses are down, preoccupied with the battle of Solberg Helle. Geir sees this is the best course of action, and I understand this, too, but neither of us say the words, because the Fjern are right. We would not sacrifice our own people in the way that they happily would. Sigourney’s kraft, still inside of me, lets me see that for Geir, keeping his kraft a secret is a strategy as well. He keeps this strategy well hidden from me, refusing to think on it while in my presence, the words of old songs filling his mind.
When Geir says that the women should be killed, it isn’t only his opinion, but the kraft that tells him the best strategy. “They should both be publicly executed to reinforce the loyalty the people have for their leaders.”
Olina disagrees. “The free nations are paying close attention to how we treat our hostages.”
Olina has been instrumental. At the table, Marieke, Olina, and I can read and write, though no slave should be able to. Marieke also has her connections to the north. She would travel the empires years ago when Sigourney Rose was only a child, passing messages of plans for the oncoming insurrection. But she does not understand the societies of the northern empires or the Fjern, whereas Olina has had the chance to study and learn their customs, and her own connections are more far-reaching. Olina had penned three letters on our behalf, requesting the surrender of the islands of Hans Lollik. The letters were sent to Lothar Niklasson. The messengers were returned to the shores of Hans Lollik Helle on unmanned boats without their heads. Olina focuses on her letters to the empire of Rescela, a nation that is along the coastline of the northern lands. She requests aid from aristocrats of the free nation, but many scouts never returned. We can only assume that they had been captured and killed by the Fjern at sea. For the scouts that do return, the letters have gone unanswered. Still, Olina has hope for one woman in particular who has seemed moved by our plight, though she hasn’t yet promised the aid that we need. Olina wants to leave for Rescela on her own so that she can explain in person the atrocities we have faced, but we can’t risk losing her.
“I speak to a dame of the Rescela Empire who is against violence toward the defenseless,” Olina says. “I can’t write to the ambassadors, saying we have survived the atrocities of the Fjern, only to kill our own prisoners in cold blood. They will call us hypocrites. They will say we cannot govern our own freedom.”
“They’re eating food,” Kjerstin says. “Drinking fresh water. They’re using our resources.”
“Two more mouths to feed isn’t the issue,” Marieke answers. “The issue is the damn guards eating more than their fill, drinking rum into the night—”
“How would the ambassadors learn of their deaths?” Malthe asks. The table quiets.
Olina frowns. “I’m sorry?”
“Do the royals of the free nations know that Sigourney Rose and Patrika Årud are still alive?” he continues. “The Fjern themselves aren’t sure who has survived, beyond those who managed to escape. The others were killed in the initial attack. For all anyone outside of this island can tell, both Sigourney Rose and Patrika Årud are already dead.”
A silence follows and stretches. Malthe can see that I hope for mercy for Sigourney Rose. I hate the woman, but she’s also an islander who has withstood the horrors of the Fjern, just as any of us still alive have. I see the memories that haunt her—her sisters, her brother, her mother. I can’t help but sympathize with her. I can’t help but want to show her what she’s been unable to see: the possibility of these islands, us all living in freedom and peace.