Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-four
Once the men had grown tired of beating on each other and worked up a healthy sweat in the sun, both Nords and Essians headed down to the fjord in a noisy pack, eager to cool off and clean up. Laughter trailed behind them like banners in the breeze.
Eadlyn fell in step beside Ranvi as she, Inga, and the children walked back toward the longhouse. The morning heat was lifting mist from the fields, and she welcomed the gentle breeze that tugged at the edges of her dress.
Ranvi glanced over, her eyes bright. “While the men are occupied, we should see what your merchants have brought.”
Eadlyn liked the sound of that.
Back at the longhouse, Ranvi and Inga gathered items from the storage shelves—woven trim, an extra tunic, a pair of fine wool dresses to trade.
Eadlyn added a few of her own pieces, though she suspected they were worth less than the others.
She also took a small pouch of coins from what Edward had sent.
With the children in tow, they made their way to the open field, the sun beating down as they approached the circle of merchant wagons.
Other women and children already milled about, their voices overlapping in a cheerful buzz.
Trygg shot ahead like a streak of chaos and joy, darting between legs and barrels with gleeful shrieks as he joined his friends.
At the first wagon, they browsed an assortment of utensils, iron pots, polished goblets that gleamed in the sun, and various other household goods.
At the next, foreign spices hung thick in the air.
Eadlyn leaned in to sniff one jar, savoring the warmth of clove and cinnamon.
She sampled a pinch of something sharp and smoky that brought tears to her eyes and forced her to press her fingers to her mouth to stifle a cough.
Inga laughed, patting her back and purchasing a selection for special occasions.
The third wagon displayed a wide variety of fabrics.
Piles of soft wool, bleached linen, and exotic furs sat in generous stacks.
Eadlyn lingered at a bolt of vibrant red silk, brushing her fingers over the smooth, delicate cloth.
Back in Essix she may have bought it, but here it was far too fine and costly for her needs.
A bundle of pale blue linen drew her next. Light as a breeze, it would make the perfect summer dress. Something simple and airy, edged with the delicate tablet-woven trim she’d been working on. She held a corner between her fingers, imagining it swaying in the wind near the fjord.
Ranvi appeared beside her. “That color would look lovely on you.”
Eadlyn admired the fabric a moment longer but then set it down. “Aevar has already given me more than enough dresses.”
“You should still get it.”
She hesitated, weighing the pouch on her belt. “Maybe I’ll think about it.”
As she stepped away, Ranvi’s voice rose behind her. “Will you take this dress and this trim for the linen?”
Ranvi still stood at the merchant’s table, holding out a green wool gown and two lengths of tablet-woven trim. The merchant studied her offer and gave a sharp nod.
Gathering the linen, Ranvi turned and pressed it into Eadlyn’s hands. “Now you don’t need to think about it.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Eadlyn clutched the fabric, both grateful and flustered. “I could have paid for it myself.”
“I know.” Ranvi grinned wide and unrepentant.
“Tahk fyr. For this, I’ll give you one of the dresses Edward sent. Any one you like.”
“I’m not sure what I’d do with an Essian dress.”
“You could use the fabric for something else.” Eadlyn lowered her voice. “Or wear it to see how Erik reacts.”
Inga laughed.
“That could be fun,” Ranvi admitted, mischief dancing in her eyes.
They moved on to the next wagon, where wide tables displayed a variety of trinkets and small wares.
One in particular caught Eadlyn’s eye. Baskets and bowls overflowed with beads—wood, horn, glass, polished stones—some strung in strands, others scattered across rough cloth like treasure spilled from a broken pouch.
A cluster of Camrian glass beads drew her like a lodestone. They gleamed in deep blues and stormy blacks, flecked with silver and gold. She reached out, letting them slide through her fingers. They were perfectly smooth, catching the light as they moved.
Ranvi reached her side again. “Those are beautiful.”
“They are,” Eadlyn murmured. “My mother used to have beads like these…part of a necklace with a silver cross. I don’t know what happened to it after she died.”
The memory arose, no longer sharp, but still aching. She would have loved to carry that piece of her mother with her. It was probably locked away in a monastery vault now, forgotten among other treasures that once meant everything to someone.
She turned to the merchant. “How much for a strand?”
The man, heavyset and flushed from the sun, faced her. “You are Princess Eadlyn.”
She nodded.
He looked her over with thinly veiled interest, gaze lingering where it shouldn’t. She lifted the blue linen higher, shielding herself as she straightened her spine. His smile turned oily as he named the price, which was high as expected.
She considered it but then set the beads back. She wouldn’t spend Edward’s silver on a whim. Especially not on something this trivial. She had necklaces among the things Galen had brought. She’d repurpose one of those. And she didn’t care to reward the merchant’s attention, either.
Aevar was beginning to like Galen.
The man didn’t pretend to be anything other than what he was—blunt, loyal, and fiercely protective.
Aevar didn’t doubt for a moment that if he ever hurt Eadlyn, Galen would kill him without hesitation.
And somehow, that made Aevar like him all the more.
His father and brothers seemed to enjoy the man’s company as well.
Even Braan, usually skeptical, had laughed more than once at Galen’s dry commentary.
After their swim in the fjord, they returned to the longhouse.
The place was quiet, the women and children gone, save for the thralls, who greeted them with pitchers of mead and drinking horns.
Aevar took one and sank onto a shaded bench outside.
The others sprawled along the wall, stretching and lounging.
Green grass, fjord water, and warm earth mingled with the honeyed sweetness of the mead.
Galen drank deeply and gave a grunt of approval. “That’s good.”
“Thank you,” Fathir said. “My wife and Ranvi oversee the brewing.”
They talked of village routines and longhouse life. The mood was relaxed, edges smoothed by sun and drink.
“You know,” Erik said, turning to Galen, “it’s a shame you weren’t here a few days ago. You could’ve joined us for knattleikr.”
“Knatt-what?” Galen raised a brow.
“A ball game,” Aevar said, grinning.
Kian downed a gulp of mead. “And not for the faint of heart. We’ve still got two men limping.”
He launched into a dramatic retelling of the match and how he and Aevar had triumphed despite the odds. Galen listened with amusement that soon gave way to shaking his head.
“Do all your pastimes involve bloodshed?”
There was a collective shrug and a rumble of laughter from the group.
Aevar tipped his horn toward him. “Eadlyn enjoyed watching.”
“Did she?”
Aevar nodded. “I heard her cheering for me louder than anyone.”
“Huh.” Galen seemed to chew on that, the corners of his mouth twitching.
Not long after, the sound of returning voices floated on the breeze, light and familiar.
The women and children approached from the market, baskets under arms. The children ran ahead, laughing and shouting.
Aevar spotted Eadlyn right away, drawn to her smile.
She was glowing. Galen’s visit clearly meant more than a simple check-in.
He was family, not just a guard. Aevar hated to think of the ache that might follow when he left. But that was not today.
“Find anything worth the walk?” Fathir asked.
“A few things.” Móthir lifted a bundle of herbs Aevar did not recognize.
His gaze returned to Eadlyn, noting the blue linen in her arms. He imagined her in a dress of that color, and the thought lingered.
Setting his mead aside and pushing to his feet, Galen folded his arms. “What’s this I hear about you cheering for some bloody ball sport?”
Eadlyn froze mid-step, eyes wide like Trygg caught sneaking honey. Aevar bit back a laugh.
She recovered and lifted her chin. “I was supporting my husband.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Galen chuckled. “Wait until Edward hears.”
“No! He can’t keep a secret to save his life. If the nobles find out, they’ll think I’ve turned savage.”
“Well…” Galen gestured to her attire.
She smacked his arm. “We are not savages in Fjellheim.”
Laughter rippled again. Aevar watched her, unable to tear his eyes from the joy on her face.
Ranvi stepped beside him, her voice low. “One merchant had a strand of beads Eadlyn liked. She said her mother used to have a necklace with similar ones and a silver cross. I think she would have liked to buy them but put them back.”
Aevar’s attention sharpened, though he continued to watch Eadlyn.
Ranvi hesitated, then added, “One other thing. The merchant had very hungry eyes. Remember that when negotiating.”
That snapped his focus to her. “Which merchant?”
She described him and the beads. Eadlyn still chatted with Galen, unaware. Without a word, Aevar ducked into the longhouse. He retrieved his silver and strode down to the field where the merchant wagons sat.
It didn’t take long to find the man. Thick through the middle. Grinning too eagerly at the women who passed by. When Aevar approached, the merchant straightened, butchering a Nord greeting. He probably knew just enough to greet customers and negotiate prices.
Aevar responded with a simple, curt, “Hello.”
“Ah, you speak Aerlish. Excellent! Is there something specific you seek?”
“Princess Eadlyn was here earlier. Do you still have the beads she was interested in?”
“Yes, yes. Beautiful Camrian glass. Very rare.” He scrambled to retrieve them.
Aevar took the beads, turning them in his fingers. Deep blues and jet black, just like Ranvi had described. In another bowl, he spotted a second strand and picked it up too.
The merchant’s tone shifted. “Are you the princess’s husband?”
“I am.”
“You are a lucky man. The princess is quite lovely.”
His voice was far too appreciative, and Aevar shot him a withering look.
The merchant shifted. “It was an innocent observation.”
Aevar didn’t blink. The silence stretched, making the man squirm and sweat more.
“I-I can offer a very reasonable price.”
Aevar spoke, keeping his voice calm but cold. “How much for both? And I suggest you take your unwelcome interest in my wife into account when you name your price.”
The merchant paled and stammered an acceptable offer. Aevar laid the silver down, took the beads, and walked away without another word.
He already knew how he would give them to her. Not today, but soon.