Chapter 10
Ten
Elara
Shortly after sunrise, Elara slipped outside, hoping not too many people milled around.
Dark circles marred the thin skin under her eyes after spending much of the night tossing and turning under furs smelling of Njáll.
A thread rolled between her fingers as she toyed with it. The new linen dress arrived with piles of far too much meat and fresh water. A young, doe-eyed girl delivered them before leaving with a tinkling giggle.
After soaking in the steaming tub until her fingers wrinkled, Elara plaited her hair and crawled into the mountain of plush furs.
It wasn’t long before the whispers came. The voices fed on her grief, calling to her. To regret and guilt gnawing at her, leaving her exposed in a place where she was entirely alone.
A small part of her lamented sending Njáll away, craving his steady presence.
Alruna appeared, her figure chasing away the draugar, but failing to mute them completely. Indistinct mumblings murmured all night, the sounds scratching like nails on stone in the recesses of her mind.
Eventually, she passed out, her body too exhausted to fight anymore.
A light breeze rustled the treetops, blowing errant strands of her hair loose from her braid. Despite her attempts to remain unseen, a few folks moved around in the early dawn light.
Luckily, most seemed unenthused by her presence, paying her little mind as they went about their morning routines. Some chopped wood, while others mended nets or skinned rabbits.
Those who saw her gave a silent nod before returning to their business.
The tight knot in chest unraveled slightly, her finger wrapping around a wayward coil of hair.
As she rounded a corner, a soft thud echoed in the dirt beside her. Her eyes flicked, a tired smile curling on her lips at the sight of Alruna’s wispy tail flicking in her wake. Those gold eyes twinkled in the morning light, gazing at Elara.
“Good morning,” Elara murmured, slowing her pace enough to glide her fingers through the silky fur.
The repetitive movement helped ease the guilt festering in her belly.
She’d been as cruel as he’d been, blaming him for something he had nothing to do with. It wasn’t her fault Englishmen attacked Njáll’s sister, and maybe it wasn’t his fault a Dane had killed her brother.
Two fingers pressed into the spot between her eyes, rubbing at the dull ache pounding there.
Yesterday had been long.
Too long.
The time spent before the Konungr had been uneasy, but the man didn’t appear as gruff as Njáll made him sound. His many seasons lined the creases around his eyes, the marks as numerous as his scars.
She hadn’t understood any of their harsh, yet, oddly beautiful language. It wasn’t the Konungr’s imposing disposition putting her on edge. No, it had been every eye silently watching her.
Back home, Elara mostly went unnoticed. Here she felt on display. An ornamental jewel to be shown off with the rest of their raiders’ conquests. She was thankful when the crowds dispersed and Njáll tucked her into his side.
Elara walked for a long time without purpose, observing life humming in the quiet morning light.
It wasn’t so different from her own. A man and his wife huddled together by a fire, sharing a meal.
Further down the path, a man with long blond hair hitched a small girl on his hip, feeding a few sheep.
It reminded her of her father, and how he’d carried her from place to place when she was little. A sad smile strained the corners of her mouth. She’d see him again someday. She knew it.
Something fastened to the outer wall of the massive central structure drew her attention. A large tapestry stretched over the aged beams. Her eyes darted across the stained fabric, admiring it as her fingers hovered over the dyed hide.
In the center was a fearsome woman. A wreath of gold leaves and tangled roses perched on top of her head. Robes of spun silver and silk flowed from her elegant figure, almost shimmering in the delicate light.
A gasp caught in Elara’s throat, making her cough.
At the hollow of the woman’s throat sat a glowing gem, highlighting her twinkling gold hair.
It was her.
The same woman who had appeared to her, talking of fate.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, so loud she was certain anyone would hear it. Despite the swell of emotions consuming her, she forced herself closer to the tapestry. Scanning the bottom border of the image, her gaze fixed on delicate gold lettering.
Freyja.
Fingertips bounced over her parted lip, Elara’s eyes falling on Alruna. The panther sat at her feet, mimicking the graceful pose of the enormous cats pulling Freyja’s chariot. Nails traced the embroidery of the name etched into the canvas.
Elara stumbled backward, clutching her chest. She knew nothing of the Norse or their gods, only the few glimpses Njáll had shared with her.
Rocks dug into her knees as she fell to the ground. Alruna nudged her palm, a gentle purr rumbling from her.
Freyja oversaw the realm of Fólkvangr. The place her mother now dwelled.
A goddess wished to keep Elara safe from the draugar, speaking in hushed riddles about love conquering grief.
Instant, brief pain hissed across her scalp. The edges of her vision blurred, and a flash of dark braids and two different colored eyes appeared, vanishing in a wisp of smoke.
Njáll.
A man who lived and breathed the will of the gods.
Pebbles burrowed into her skin as her fingers flexed in the dirt.
Njáll, who had spared her and comforted her when she spoke of shadow beings. Most would have called her mad. Some going as far as to kill her, lest she hurt someone with her odd ramblings.
Njáll, the one who knew what she was before she did.
A witch.
The truth knocked the air from her lungs, her chest rising and falling as she stayed there, kneeling in the dirt.
Njáll wasn’t a demon. He wasn’t a curse bound to corrupt her. He was someone sent to her.
For what? She wasn’t entirely certain.
Warmth swam in her belly, swarming like butterflies in spring. The pleasant sensation felt like betrayal. Like she tainted her brother’s memory by enjoying it.
Elara picked her bottom lip bloody, gingerly getting to her feet before anyone noticed her on the ground.
Alruna’s wispy tail curled around her wrist, anchoring her. Elara stared at the tapestry hard enough to make her eyes water. She willed Freyja to appear, to explain herself. To make sense of all the jumbled words and visions.
When nothing happened, Elara growled a tiny sound, turning around.
The only thing certain was Njáll knew more about the draugar and her abilities than she did. She needed him. No matter how hard she tried to fight it, it didn’t change the truth.
She could hate him and need him in the same breath.
Even if that hate burned like desire.
Njáll might have been dangerous, but it didn’t go unnoticed how he softened around her. With her, he hadn’t been an entitled Jarl, coveting anything he deemed precious.
He’d been a man disarmed by something he didn’t understand.
Just like her.
While it still tasted bitter to do so, she had forgiven him. A jarl had submitted to her whims, allowing her to shoo him from his own home. If he could swallow his pride for her, then she could do the same.
“I should return,” she mumbled, the sound barely audible over the wind’s low moan.
As she rose, Alruna vanished in a plume of smoke, leaving Elara to retrace her steps.
Whatever Freyja intended for her, it wasn’t for Elara to face alone.
She and Njáll would have to figure it out together.
Which meant she’d need to apologize to the distractingly attractive Jarl.
She finally stood in front of Njáll’s home once more.
In the daylight, she could fully appreciate the intricate carvings in the wood framing the entrance. Charms hung above the doorway, tinkling in the wind.
Part of her hoped he’d be waiting for her when she returned, but when she opened the door, all she found was disappointment.
The fire in the hearth roared, the dry logs cracking as the scent of cedar wafted through the smoke hole.
Fresh meat and water waited for her on a bench.
As she moved closer, a tiny polished stone, nestled in a heap of linen, gleamed in the firelight’s glow.
The perfectly smooth river stone glided between her fingers.
Markings were etched into the stone’s surface. The pads of her fingers caught on the grooves as she traced the lines, trying to decipher its meaning.
While she’d been gone, Njáll had provided for her, leaving food and clothes and a gift.
A single rune, whose purpose eluded her.
It wasn’t a demand. He didn’t force his presence on her, simply caring for her in the only way he knew how while respecting her request for time.
Tears stung the backs of her eyes, the wet drops sliding down her cheeks and staining the dusty floor. She pressed the cool stone against her lips, swallowing the faint taste of bile coating her tongue.
When her tears dried, she brushed their remnants away with the sleeve of her linen dress. Slowly, she lowered the stone into her pocket, finding its weight comforting as she tapped the spot.
She picked at the meat, annoyed it didn’t make her feel any better. Each bite she forced down turned to ash in her mouth.
A pile of dresses and shifts, cloaks and jewels lay across the furs. Garments she refused to sift through. They had been gifts from the Jarl, ones she didn’t deserve. One she couldn’t accept.
They were far finer than anything she’d ever owned.
The day moved slowly as she stared into the fire, hoping the flames would speak to her. They didn’t, staying frustratingly silent.
As the sun began to set, the door creaked.
Elara spun, a bearskin wrapped around her shoulders. Blood rushed in her ears. She instinctively searched for a weapon. Color flooded her cheeks when her gaze landed on the broad figure filling the doorway.
Njáll’s hulking form stood still, the colorful sunset casting him in a shadowy glow. It made him look like a demon bathed in the flames of hell. It made an infuriating heat build low in her abdomen.