Bloodtide

Conor aimed too high. But that wasn't his fatal weakness. He had another weakness that my father never had: his love for me.

Siggy is billeted outside the walls of the Estate. In the next few days, they'll launch their final attack. He'll be the king of London; Conor will be dead. And I – what will I be? Alive or dead? Who will decide my fate for me this time?

I see so many jailers and so many jails in my life. So manymen shaping me. My father, who made me marry for his sake. Conor, who locked me up with his heart as well as with his keys. What about Odin and his games? So, who's next? Roll up, give me a try. Which king wants me? Odin? Am I to die? Or King Siggy? Oh, sorry, I forgot… it seems he's going to change his name. Siggy doesn't sound right for royalty. Sigmund is his name from now on. King Sigmund… much better.

I brought all this about. They could never have conquered us without my help. I worked tirelessly for the Volsons, but at the end it seems that only a man can be a Volson. I've done this, all of it! And now I have to watch him take the crown, the credit, and the power.

Not much chance of ruling from behind Siggy's throne.

Why him and not me? No, don't tell me, I know the answer to that one. I've heard it already. Odin gave him the knife, Odin chosehim to rule. Well, I say kingship is won, not given. And besides, who says Odin did any such a thing? Didn't he embrace me too? And what chance was I given to pull the knife out? Of course, only the men were given a chance. We poor girls and women had to sit and watch. The knife worked for Siggy, but maybe it will work for me, too.

I could be the one. The knife could have been mine. Perhaps it evenshould have been mine.

Sssh…! Conor stirs in his sleep, muttering under his breath. Don't wake, my darling – don't you dare. Why bother waking up when you're already as good as dead? Within a day or two. Perhaps within hours. Perhaps it'll even be in minutes, if things work out the way I want.

But first, the knife.

It's been a long time since Conor wore it at his side. It's too valuable. In any case, he could never cut more than cheese with it. If he used it on anything tougher it had to be cut out. He keeps it locked away, like the ogre did with his heart: inside a box, under a floor, inside a house, inside a mountain. There is a safe made of titanium half a metre thick set into the floor of this very room. Only he has the key. I can talk Conor into anything, but he will not tell me where that key is. And here's a strange thing; even Cherry hasn't been able to tell me where he hides that key. You see how secretive my husband is. He won't even allow a cat to see what he does with the key.

I creep towards him. Every night I get up and steal around the apartment looking for it. I search all corners, in all drawers. I lift up the chairs and feel inside the covers. I stick a sharply pointed little knife into the joints in the woodwork, looking for a hollow. He never leaves these few rooms, it must be here somewhere. I need that key. Oh, Conor, it keeps you alive, because the second I have it I'll kill you!

Next door, I cad hear a low, persistent growling. Cherry is anxious, poor dear. She doesn't approve. Odin's knife is not something you play games with. See what's happened to Conor for his effrontery in taking it from its rightful owner! My fate is sewn up, although she won't tell me what it is. Odin has made his mind up. Cherry says, what is to be is to be, even the gods can't change it. But I'll change what is to be, and stop me if you can! Yes, Cherry, this is blasphemy. If I can find the knife I shall stick it into Conor sleeping there, and I'll stick it in you and in Siggy, too, if that's what it costs. Poor Cherry, I've left her behind. She mews and cries but look! I already have cloths and bowls ready to sop up Conor's blood. Do you think I can't kill Siggy, who I haven't seen for years, when I can do this to my Conor?

Dear Conor. When you die there'll be a hole inside me but not where my heart is – that went long ago. Hush! I pull the sheet away but his skin is bare; no key there. Here are his clothes in a heap by the side of the bed. I reach down and lift the trousers up and give them a gentle shake and I hear – yes! – the rattle of keys.

So close! I put my hand in the pocket and take out a bunch of keys, but even as I see them I know already that the one I want isn't here. I know the lock on that safe too well. None of these will fit. Well, I hardly expected it to be so easy.

I take up his shoes and bend the soles. Has he tucked the key in there? In the leather sides? I take a small, thin, sharp knife out of my dress and slip the blade between the layers of the sole, feeling for the scratch of metal. Occupied with my task, I forget for a second where I am, and that's why it makes me jump and gasp when I look down and see him lying there, eyes open, watching me.

'Not there, Princess,' he whispers, and closes his eyes.

It makes me stiffen in fear. See, I'm still afraid of him! He can still make me tremble, although he's lost everything, even his wits.

How much does he really know?

I turn to glance at the other room where Cherry is hiding. I hear her stalking out of the room in human form again. She won't be surprised. The ways of the gods, Cherry says, are not to be foiled.

I slip my dress off over my head and creep in next to Conor, who is now pretending to be asleep. I cuddle up close, nudge him with my belly. He curls towards me and puts his arm over my shoulders. See, the loving couple.

And so we are, so we are. Until one of us kills the other.

32

There was a way in. There's always a way in when there's someone on the inside willing to open the door.

Siggy waited until he got the all-clear from Signy before launching the final attack on the Estate itself. He wanted to be sure there were no uncontainable weapons ready to go off, but it wasn't just that. He was mindful of his public duties – conquest at any cost- but he did not forget the private ones, too: murdering Conor and rescuing his sister. Somehow, he still considered that she needed to be rescued. These two things he wanted for himself and Styr in person. He had to be sure he knew where to find them before he gave the final orders of the war.

When he gave those orders a hail of shells and missiles tore the sky to rags and hit the Estate in a concentration such as even Europe had never seen before. It was a fire storm; the air itself began to burn. In such a man-made catastrophe there could be no survivors. It didn't just destroy life, it left no trace of it behind. When the troops came in afterwards, they found a hard layer of muddy glass on the ground where the buildings had melted. Then they had to use still more shells to blast the meltrock away before they could find the entrances to the system of bunkers below ground where the fire had been unable to penetrate. This was where Conor made his last stand.

The bunkers were built in the bedrock, a labyrinth of tunnels, rooms, underground buildings and escape passages. They could survive a nuclear explosion had such devices been available anymore. The whole thing was booby-trapped and guarded by layer after layer of the blue uniformed bodyguard, like a computer game made flesh. Conor and his queen could be anywhere inside and to search for them could have been a long and deadly game, perhaps an impossible one to accomplish. Except, of course, that Siggy had a map.

He waited to hear the first missiles howling overhead before he entered the bunkers. It was a matter of honour to see the beginning of the attack, but Siggy could hardly wait. He wanted the knife once again at his side, or even better, at Conor's throat, while the bombs were still sounding above ground. He could hear it, almost – certainly feel it, calling to him with its silent voice through all the rock and darkness beneath the ground, where it had been hidden for so long.

The entrance began in the cellar of a small, derelict terraced house in Hamilton Road, a couple of miles away from Conor's HQ. By the time the red bricks of the Estate were powder, and the stones melting in the heat, Siggy and his men were already two hundred yards underground, creeping along the narrow passage like rats. Above them they could hear distant gentle thuds, and when they put their hands to the rough stone around them, they could feel a vibration – all the evidence there was of the holocaust above their heads. This passage would lead them directly into Conor's living quarters, below the guard, below the booby traps, below everything. Once again, Signy had come up with the goods. Siggy was to be given all his wishes on a plate, but he wasn't feeling all that