Chapter 9 #2
Once they set it down, Kian straightened. He studied Aevar for a moment, a flicker of understanding passing between them.
“I’ll leave you to it,” he said.
The door closed behind him.
Aevar stood there, staring at the chest. Lamplight caught on the worn iron hinges. Shallow scratches marked the grain of the wood, like fingerprints from a different life. He curled his fists at his sides.
Finally, he knelt and lifted the lid. The must of old wool mingled with lavender hit and wrapped around him like the hands of a ghost. He closed his eyes against it, but it was too late.
The memories rushed in. A musical laugh, a flash of golden hair caught in the wind, a gentle hand brushing his cheek.
Bright colors met his eyes when he opened them. Dresses, shawls, woven belts she had loved. All of it folded and preserved with deliberate care. For a moment, he didn’t move. The weight of it pressed on him, stealing the breath from his lungs.
He reached out and let his fingers brush the fabric. Soft. Familiar. He found himself tracing the pattern of woven trim on the edge of a dress, the thread worn slightly loose in places. His throat tightened. He had thought—hoped—time would make this easier.
It hadn’t.
Gritting his teeth, he closed the lid again, pressing it shut.
He sat back on his heels and scrubbed a hand across his face, forcing the tide of memory down, shoving it deep into the same locked place where he kept everything else he didn’t dare touch.
This wasn’t about the past anymore. This was about what came next, and whether he was ready or not, Eadlyn was there.
The rain continued into the afternoon, a persistent drumming that blended with the low murmur of voices inside.
While the slave women tended to other household chores, Eadlyn worked alongside Inga and Ranvi at the table, preparing ingredients and organizing bunches of herbs for the evening meal and for the upcoming feasts during the Gathering.
She found it impressive that they planned such feasts, given winter stores must be running low. But Inga explained that feeding their guests during such a lean time was a matter of honor and pride. It proved that, as king, Runar could provide generously for his people.
Slicing vegetables, Eadlyn was surprised by how much she enjoyed this simple act of preparing food and learning the names of things in Nordric as she went.
“Gulrót,” Ranvi said, handing Eadlyn a thick, purple-skinned carrot.
Eadlyn repeated it, the unfamiliar word thick and clumsy in her mouth.
A draft of frigid air swept through the room as the door creaked open. Heida stepped inside, carrying a string of fresh fish. The sight of her brought a change of atmosphere, the sharp scent of fish replacing the smokiness in the air.
“You’re just in time,” Ranvi said, smiling at her entrance. “We’re educating the princess in Nordric.”
Heida glanced at her as she set the fish down on the table and drew a blade from her belt.
With the practiced ease of someone who had gutted countless fish, she made a clean cut behind the gills and sliced down the belly.
The guts spilled out onto the table with a squelching sound.
Though the smell was far from pleasant, Eadlyn didn’t turn away.
She found something fascinating in the way Heida moved—efficient and unfazed. Nothing like the noblewomen of Essix.
“How’s the learning coming along?” Heida asked.
“Slowly,” Eadlyn admitted with a sheepish smile.
“You’ll get there.” Heida continued working as she spoke, her voice lilting with a different cadence compared to the others. “It’s just a matter of repetition and patience.”
Eadlyn studied her effortless movements. “You don’t speak quite like everyone else does. Your accent…it’s different. Are you from a different clan?”
Heida barely paused. “I’m from Kalgora.”
Eadlyn blinked, a jolt of surprise running through her. The Kalgorans had an even more savage reputation than the Nords. “Really?”
Heida nodded once, laying aside a slice of pale fish.
“Jarl Gudrik and his hunting party found me when I was a child. My family—” she put icy emphasis on the word, “—was about to sacrifice me to their gods and made the mistake of crossing into Nordra. Gudrik rescued me and brought me back to his village to raise me alongside his own sons.”
A chill gripped Eadlyn despite the warmth of the hearth. “How old were you?”
“Eight. Old enough to know what was happening.”
The weight of Heida’s words settled in the room. Eadlyn’s own childhood had its fair share of darkness, but nothing as horrific as that. “That’s terrible.”
Heida shrugged, rinsing the fish in a bowl of water and slicing it into chunks for the stew pot. “It was a long time ago. I’m better off here.” She picked up another fish and began working on it.
“So you must have known Braan for a while.”
Heida’s lips lifted into an affectionate smile. “Yes. Since we were children. During the Gatherings, he threw hazelnuts at my head and feigned ignorance.”
Laughter bubbled up from the group.
“Then, the year I turned seventeen, he gave me this.” Heida tugged at the leather cord around her neck, pulling out a carved wooden eagle. The edges were worn smooth. “Didn’t say a word. Just handed it to me and walked off toward the sparring ring.”
Though Eadlyn was still getting to know everyone, that did sound like Braan.
Heida tucked the pendant back into her tunic. “I think I knew then we’d marry one day. But tensions with Kalgora kept me home for years. Now, there’s enough peace to move forward.”
Eadlyn reached for another carrot, her curiosity piqued. “When will the wedding be?”
“Autumn. Braan will speak to Gudrik during the Gathering and make the arrangements.”
Eadlyn considered what that wedding might be like. Her own ceremony had been so short and somber. What would it have been like to have had a wedding filled with love and celebration? The thought put a small, unexpected ache in her heart.
Eadlyn stifled a yawn as she and Aevar stepped into their room, the door closing behind them.
The long days of preparing for the Gathering had left her body aching and her feet sore, but she found a quiet satisfaction in the weariness.
It felt good to be useful and to be part of the household activities instead of lingering on the edges, uncertain of where she fit.
She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders, the weight comforting against the cool air in the room. Her attention drifted to the table where she had left the Scriptures. She wasn’t sure she had the energy for more than a few verses, but even a little brought comfort.
Her muscles protested as she took a step toward the table, but Aevar’s voice, low and steady, stopped her.
“This is for you.”
She turned, finding his attention fixed on something. He motioned toward a chest at the foot of the bed. It hadn’t been there this morning. A momentary spark of curiosity flared amidst her exhaustion, and she found herself drawn to it.
She lifted the lid, the iron hinges creaking as if they hadn’t been disturbed in some time. Inside rested neatly folded stacks of women’s clothing—apron dresses, underdresses, woolen shawls, and other items like those Ranvi had lent her.
Eadlyn reached out with tentative fingers, brushing them over the fine stitching. “They’re beautiful.” She glanced up. “Thank you.”
He responded with a brief nod, his face unreadable in the shifting lamplight.
For a moment, he didn’t move, standing as if lost in thought.
His focus shifted back toward the chest, and something flickered in his eyes.
Something distant. Before she could dwell on it, he turned away and began unbuckling the wide leather belt at his waist.
Eadlyn’s curiosity surfaced again, this time stronger than before.
She looked down where her fingers still lingered on the edge of the fabric.
The garments were well made and kept with care.
These weren’t cast-offs or spares from the household stores.
Someone had once worn them. Someone important.
She considered asking him, but something in his movements made her hesitate.
The way he avoided her gaze, the way his back remained turned, the careful distance he placed between them. It all made her pause.
Instead of asking, she closed the lid and moved to the table to read, leaving the chest a mystery for now.