Chapter
1
Vilmar
I knelt before my father, King Christian. My two brothers did likewise on either side of me.
“The time for the Testing has come.” The king’s voice resounded through the great hall, which was filled to overflowing with nobility and commoners alike, vying to witness the fate of their princes.
“We are ready, Your Majesty,” I said in unison with my brothers, our heads bent low.
Though I spoke the words expected of me, a part of me questioned whether I needed the Royal Testing. After all, of the three of us, I already had the favor of the Lagting. In fact, ’twas no secret the king’s council would likely pick me to inherit the throne.
The clanking of a sword against Mikkel’s chain mail to my left signaled the beginning of the ritual. As firstborn, Mikkel had the privilege of going first in many things. But birth order was no guarantee of kingship. Not in Scania, where each prince had to prove himself through the Testing in order to be chosen as the successor.
I slid a glance sideways, catching sight of the gleaming weapon resting upon Mikkel’s shoulder. The sword was magnificent with its double-edged blade and the hilt inlaid with a striking zigzag pattern of silver and copper.
“After much forethought”—the king held the sword steady on Mikkel’s shoulder—“the Lagting has decided that you, Prince Mikkel, shall seek your Testing in Norland on the Isle of Outcasts.”
Norland? We had speculated for months where the Lagting would send us. We should have guessed they would choose the three countries on the Great Isle, since our mother, Queen Joanna, had hailed from there. As the youngest sister of Alfred the Peacemaker, one of the greatest kings the Great Isle had ever known, our mother often spoke of her homeland with fondness.
The king lifted the sword and touched Mikkel’s other shoulder. “You must seek to live out the ancient wisdom that says: Look on the heart.” The words were engraved with detailed craftsmanship into the sword’s blade and would serve as a reminder of the challenge Mikkel had been given. Of course, he must uncover the deeper meaning and how it pertained to him specifically. But that was all part of the Testing.
“I accept the Testing.” Mikkel’s solemn voice filled the silence. “And I shall endeavor to complete it with my body, soul, and spirit.”
King Christian removed the sword and stepped back. The bishop, with a dangling silver thurible, took his place in front of Mikkel and chanted the words of an ancient prayer. Smoky incense billowed from the thurible as the bishop swung it back and forth, letting the sweet waft of myrrh cover Mikkel and rise toward heaven.
My older brother would indeed need much prayer. The Isle of Outcasts was fraught with much danger from warring bands of criminals and misfits who lived there. I did not envy the place he must go.
“Rise, Prince Mikkel,” the king said once the prayer was complete. Mikkel stood and the sunlight streaming in from the high open window touched upon my brother’s fair hair, which he’d left unbound for the occasion. It hung just past his shoulders in gentle waves, freshly washed and well-groomed, with a single thin braid the only decoration.
I’d styled mine in a similar fashion. While Mikkel’s hair color was like golden barley, Kresten and I shared the same rich, earthy brown of a fallow field. Having slightly differing builds and brawn, we all bore our father’s blue eyes, rugged countenance, and broad frame.
I was not deaf to the flattery that flowed through the royal court regarding how handsome we three brothers were. Nor was I blind to the admiration bestowed upon us by many young maidens. And yet, as much as I thrived on such attention and had even relished the company of pretty damsels, I’d never pursued a serious relationship—not when the king and the Lagting were in the process of securing advantageous matches.
The time would be right for love and marriage once we’d passed the Testing and learned which of us would become the next king. Only then would Father and the Lagting finish making the arrangements.
As the king handed Mikkel his new, prized sword and then kissed both his cheeks, I braced myself for my commissioning. Where would the Lagting send me? And what would my challenge be?
Their private deliberations had been ongoing for months. And now that the spring thaw had melted the dangerous ice floes that wrecked many an unsuspecting fishing boat or merchant vessel, we could emerge from our winter hibernation. Mikkel, Kresten, and I would have no trouble traveling to any destination chosen for us.
The king took his place in front of me, and I bowed my head lower, paying this great man homage. He was indeed proof that the Testing served its purpose in showing which prince deserved the title and responsibility of being king of Scania. He and his brothers had gone through the Testing over twenty-five years ago, and the Lagting had chosen Christian as being most worthy of the kingship. Like me, he’d also been the middle of three sons.
The heavy weight of a blade descended upon my shoulder. At the contact of my new, coveted sword, I closed my eyes and whispered a prayer of my own—a prayer for blessing and success in the days to come.
“After much forethought”—the king repeated the words of the ritual—“the Lagting has decided that you, Prince Vilmar, will seek your Testing in Warwick in the mine pits of the Gemstone Mountains.”
The mine pits of the Gemstone Mountains. My mind spun with all I’d ever learned about the gem mines. Located in central Warwick, the Gemstone Mountain Range had been so named when emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds had been discovered there during the reign of King Alfred the Peacemaker.
The abundance of jewels had made Warwick a valuable and rich land, one King Alfred had bestowed upon Margery, the older of his twin daughters. He’d given Mercia to the other twin, Leandra, dividing the once-united Bryttania into two smaller kingdoms. The sisters had ruled their kingdoms peacefully for several years until Leandra died giving birth to her firstborn child, Aurora. Upon Leandra’s death, Margery had insisted that Mercia belonged to her, that she had more right to be queen there than Leandra’s babe. Margery wanted to reunite and rule all of Bryttania the way her father had.
Thus began many years of Queen Margery searching for the infant in order to kill her. If the rumors were true, Queen Margery hadn’t yet found Aurora, who’d lived in hiding all these years. While I was related to Queen Margery, since she was my mother’s niece, I’d never met her before, and after what I’d heard, I also had no desire for introductions.
My father lifted the sword from my left shoulder and brought it down onto my right. “You must seek to live out the ancient wisdom that says: Be slave of all.”
Slave? Indeed, indeed. Since I must journey into the mines of the Gemstone Mountains, it followed that I must learn to live as a slave. While most of the range had been cleared of gems long ago, apparently new jewels were still being discovered but were deeper and harder to excavate with every passing year. The work was so dangerous and difficult only slaves could be persuaded to go inside and retrieve the precious gems.
Certainly, no matter the difficulty, I could accomplish such a task for the six months the Testing required.
“I accept the Testing,” I said in a clear voice that projected to the people crowded into the great hall and rose into the high arched ceiling. “I shall endeavor to complete it with my body, soul, and spirit.”