The Lost Tales of Mercia by Jayden Woods Page A

king
wanted to put off telling everyone so that it would not enrage
them, as Aydith thought it should. “He’ll be taking a new bride,”
he said hoarsely. “For the good of the country.”
    “Do you really believe that?”
    “I ... I ...” Aethelstan shook his head
helplessly. “I trust Father!”
    Aydith sighed. Aethelstan was always so
dignified and practical; perhaps he was right. Why couldn’t she
simply accept the king’s decisions like so many other people seemed
to do? She remembered the way Mother used to act submissive and
accepting of all Ethelred’s actions in public, but as soon as she
was alone with Aydith, she would curse and swear and insult her own
husband. Aydith never wanted to be like that, and she wondered how
many other people might be the same way, acting out their lives as
they felt they ought to, yet nearly bursting with anger inside. If
only people would come together and speak their true minds, perhaps
real progress could be made. But would anyone?
    She stared at her brother for a long time,
marveling at him. He did not seem to be filled with secrets and
bitterness like so many other people. He simply did what he thought
he was supposed to do. Surely God must love him dearly. And so did
their father.
    This thought sparked a new idea in her head.
“Perhaps ...” She swallowed thickly. “Perhaps you could talk to
him. Tell him to reconsider.”
    “Why? Because you miss your mother?” He
guffawed, and she felt as if her heart melted. Aethelstan rarely
expressed such disdain. “Do you know how childish you sound?”
    Aydith set her mouth in a firm line,
glaring. “It’s not just about Mother. It’s about our father
appearing weak .” The word made her blood burn with
nervousness. It was a word her own mother had used to describe
Ethelred often, but she had never dared repeat it until now.
Aethelstan blinked with surprise. “First the Danegald. He took the
people’s money and gave it to the Danes to buy peace; but the Danes
only come back for more. Now this: marrying a Norman! When the only
solution is to keep fighting!”
    Suddenly Aydith became all too aware that
she and Aethelstan were not alone. She saw the looks of shock on
the maids’ faces, and the abashed expression of Hastings, who
seemed embarrassed just to hear such things. Meanwhile Aethelstan’s
face turned bright red. He was not the sort to get angry, but even
he had his limits.
    “What―what I mean is ...” Aydith drooped in
her chair, her voice slurring to something of a mumble. “What I
mean is that these things make him look weak. Not that he is.”
    Aethelstan lifted his chin, which seemed to
require a great deal of effort, for his body seemed as stiff as
clay when cooked to the shattering point. Despite this, he managed
to keep his voice at a low, but grating, pitch. “Everyone … please
leave the room.”
    Their eyes wide, the maids got up and
scurried out. Aydith was relieved, though she shuddered to think
how they would gossip about the scene they’d already witnessed.
Hastings, however, stood still.
    “The king commanded me to watch her, my
lord,” he said.
    Aethelstan did not seem to care, nor even
notice that Hastings remained, for all of his concentration was
focused on Aydith. When the maids were gone, he stormed up to her
table and grabbed one of the books.
    “Hey―!” shouted Aydith.
    He pulled it out of her reach. “You’ve been
reading too many of these stories!”
    “They’re not stories!” cried Aydith. “They
are history! They chronicle the past of all Engla-lond, and
even some other parts of the world, Aethelstan!”
    But because he had picked up the book, his
eyes found yet something else: the wooden woman. He seized this
next, and Aydith cried out with dismay.
    “If those are history, then what is this?”
Her brother turned it in his hands, trying to figure it out for
himself. “Is this the Lady Aethelfleda you always talk about?”
    She clutched for it, but he stepped back