Chapter Nine
One of her servants, Inga, hurried forward. ‘I will get a bucket and broom to clean it up, Your Highness.’
‘Bring some lye soap, too… I don’t want the floor to be stained,’ said Skadi, although honestly, she didn’t care if the floor cracked in two.
She was more worried about Inga, considering the subtle strength of the poison she’d almost served to her new husband.
It was bad enough to kill a man she hated, but to kill an innocent by accident?
There were some things even she couldn’t stomach.
Agnar hadn’t moved since she’d swatted away the poisoned chalice and she had avoided his eyes for fear that one look at her guilty face would be enough to condemn her.
Instead, she tried to brazenly act as if nothing had happened, nervously picking at her food and swallowing it down even though it felt like gravel in her throat.
Inga returned moments later with two buckets, one filled with soapy water and a scrubbing brush, the other containing some straw and ash. Diligently Inga spread the straw and ash over the spill, pressing down with the brush to soak up the wine, and then began to sweep it up into the bucket.
Skadi called out to her again, ‘Inga, be careful with the glass! Throw both buckets in the rubbish pit after and be sure to wash your hands thoroughly…’ She could feel Agnar’s stony gaze on her and she added weakly, ‘Glass shards can be very dangerous and wine will stain your fingernails.’ She turned to another servant, trying to ignore the wild pounding of her heart.
‘Please fetch a new chalice for the King.’
She turned back to Agnar and swallowed when she saw the cold fury in his eyes.
He knew.
‘What was in it?’ he snapped, his voice far too loud for Skadi’s comfort.
She was sure Inga had heard him. A couple of the tables at the front of the hall had also stopped what they were doing and had now turned to stare at her accusingly.
She recognised one of the men as his second Vali, the red-haired warrior who Brenna hated—for good reason.
‘Nothing.’ She busied herself by picking up her chalice. She took a sip and realised it was empty. Not bothering to wait for a servant to refill it, she poured herself more wine from the jug and took a large gulp.
Will he kill me now?
It would be the perfect excuse to dispose of her…
How could she send word to Brenna to escape? Would it be obvious? She suspected her people would revolt at her death. But would Astra and Brenna even make it out alive?
Her hand began to tremble. Agnar grabbed her chalice and put it firmly back on the table with such a heavy thud that the wine spilled over the rim, staining the white-and-blue linen with a splash of scarlet.
A dark omen. Not unlike the horrible splashes of oppressive blood-red hanging all around her.
She stared down at the stain, guilt churning like a whirlpool in her stomach. She had tried to murder him. Slipping a drop of the poison into his wine, while he rooted around under the table for her knife. The fact he’d even agreed to do that still surprised her.
Even worse, she still wasn’t sure if she’d done the right thing by saving him. But she couldn’t deny the doubt and hesitation that had plagued her for those last few moments. When he’d raised his glass to his lips, she’d found herself finding any excuse to question him, to delay her crime.
Why had she done that? Guilt? Curiosity? Regret?
And, then he’d revealed that her uncle, the only person she thought might protect her, had worked with Agnar. She couldn’t kill him until she knew why her uncle had given him aid. But had she put Astra and herself in danger by doing so?
She couldn’t understand her actions, and neither could Agnar by the sound of it…although, for different reasons.
‘Why did you strike it from my hands if there was nothing in it?’ he snarled, looking a lot like the fierce wolf’s head that roared across his banners.
But there was something else behind his anger…
a flash of hurt and betrayal. It was the same look she had seen all those years ago when she’d hurried Heimdall away from his bleeding body.
It was a stark reminder that he was a man and not a beast.
She forced herself to look at him, to truly see him.
He was an unusual-looking man, strong rough features marred by many nicks and scars, serpent-green eyes that were deep set and brooding.
No beard, but plenty of stubble instead, suggesting he did not care to shave or groom a beard like most men.
Yet his hair was long, shiny and, when combed, as it was now… extraordinarily beautiful.
Why was she noticing this now?
Probably, because it will be the last thing you see!
‘I saw a fly,’ she mumbled, her chest so tight she was almost tempted to loosen the ties of her gown.
‘A fly?’ He glared back at her and she shrugged, reaching for the bread and tearing off another petal, desperate for a distraction.
‘We had a pestilence brought about by a swathe of flies last year… I did not want to see such a devastating illness return.’ It was the most feasible excuse she could think of for her behaviour and she hoped it would be enough.
It was not.
Agnar’s voice bellowed out to the rest of the hall. ‘Vali! If I die quickly and with no obvious reason…’ His jaw hardened and his next ominous words chilled Skadi to the bone ‘…you know what to do.’
Vali nodded, stabbing his dagger forcefully into a chunk of meat and picking it up to take a large greasy bite. Skadi wasn’t sure what would happen if Agnar died suspiciously, but she was certain that she wouldn’t like it.
Skadi swallowed nervously, as the sound of Vali’s chewing seemed to fill the silence.
She couldn’t kill Agnar with poison. Not until she knew the truth about her uncle’s involvement. A strange relief washed through her and she realised she had not wanted to stain her soul with murder…even if it was justified.
Now that she knew her uncle had helped Agnar in his quest to take Heimdall’s throne she had to claim ignorance and learn more about her uncle’s feelings on the matter.
Why would he help Agnar, if he were happy with Heimdall? And, why wait all these years to give his support to Agnar now? None of it made sense! She rallied her thoughts and feelings to calmly ask, ‘Why would I want to kill you if, as you say, King Olaf, my uncle, supports you?’
‘He does support me,’ replied Agnar, placing his hands in his lap. He didn’t reach for any more food or drink and she couldn’t blame him for it.
‘Surely, not until recently, or you would have come sooner,’ she laughed, but the amusement died in her throat when she saw the seriousness of his expression. ‘Why would he support you? The Rus are a threat to all of us!’
‘A threat?’ he chuckled bitterly, but gave a strange nod of agreement. ‘Sven is the only one threatened by them and only then because of their connection with me. Your uncle, values trade with the east and would prefer a fairer agreement than the one currently provided.’
‘But…’ her mind struggled to accept his words ‘…why has he never spoken of it? I know I haven’t seen him for many years. But we are family, he could have sent word to me about his grievances.’
‘He sent several messengers to Heimdall about it, but was always ignored. Did Heimdall not tell you?’ Agnar’s question was said with a knowing look that made her anger flare.
She scowled at him, but answered politely, ‘Unfortunately not. I suppose I will have to take your word for it.’
‘The very presence of his men under my command is proof enough that I speak the truth.’
She tried her best to ignore the smugness of his tone. ‘My uncle approved of my match to Heimdall. I am simply…surprised that he would change his mind.’
‘Things have changed… For one, I am now a grown man. Your uncle realises that what suited both of you then is no longer of benefit to him now.’ His jaw flexed as if even acknowledging the truth of it irritated him.
‘He supported me in challenging Sven and becoming King of Thrudheim. He wishes no further interference from Sven in the running of this important and strategic kingdom.’
‘Sven does not rule Thrudheim.’
‘But he told you to marry Heimdall and Heimdall has always agreed to his demands.’
She stiffened because that much had been true.
King Sven had been the one to tell her that she could not rule alone and had even suggested Heimdall as a potential match, explaining that she would need a warrior husband, or her kingdom would fall under attack from the petty Kings or the Rus—who threatened him daily.
‘I married Heimdall because I was vulnerable.’
‘Being a young and unmarried woman wasn’t what made you vulnerable. Back then, you had enough support from the petty Kings to remain secure in your position. Sven manipulated you into thinking otherwise and then over time took all of your forces from you. Now you are vulnerable.’
She didn’t like how true that sounded, but she couldn’t argue it.
The forces of Thrudheim had diminished over the years.
Raiding and mining was dangerous work and had stolen the lives of many of Thrudheim’s young men.
‘You are King Sven’s half-brother. Surely it would have benefited him more to have a close relative like yourself as ruler of Thrudheim rather than a warrior with no connection like Heimdall. ’
To her surprise, he shook his head. ‘No, it would not. It would distance you further from him. I am his half-brother. If I married you and we had children, he could not marry them or take you as his bride. He wanted you to remain under his thumb, while also providing a possible match for him or his sons in the future. Heimdall was the perfect choice—he paid him well to court and support you. He feared that he would be surrounded by powerful Rus families on both sides of the sea if you married me.’
Raw embarrassment and pain flashed through her. How dare he comment on her life as if he knew everything! And, yet, describing Heimdall’s deliberate ‘seduction’ of her felt brutally close to the truth.
But she still had her pride and refused to admit her past mistakes to someone who was so blinded by his own lust for power.
‘You know nothing of my marriage. It is clear you hate Heimdall and King Sven. I would be a fool to trust you, especially with the life of my child at stake. You say you will claim her as your heir. But I do not believe it. No normal man would willingly give up his name, his legacy, for another man’s child, especially his enemy’s! ’
‘Perhaps I am not normal,’ he admitted with an amused smile that made her want to scream. ‘But marrying you and ruling Thrudheim has always been my goal… I have never thought to have another.’
She stared at him, trying to distinguish between the lies and the truth.
Unable to be certain of either, with a sniff she said, ‘If King Olaf believes you are Thrudheim’s future, then there is little I can do about it—he was my last hope for Astra’s safety…
from both you and Sven! I suspect war will be the only rotten fruit of your scheming with my uncle.
But I will have to accept it for now.’ She pushed away her trencher, her appetite all gone.
‘It was inevitable,’ he replied. ‘Are you done eating?’
She swallowed a sudden knot in her throat.
Did he want to bed her now?
‘Yes, I have instructed a bard to tell the story of Thrudheim—I thought it best you learn some of our history. Let me call him forward.’ She lifted her hand to get the bard’s attention, but with lightning speed Agnar grabbed her wrist and lowered it back on to the table.
‘Not tonight. Another time, perhaps,’ he said and his hand flexed around her wrist, almost as if he didn’t want to let her go. It was as rough and as calloused as his face, but warm, so hot it sent a wave of goosebumps up her arm.
‘This will be a poor feast without entertainment.’
She was trying her best not to seem too obvious in her delaying tactics, but Agnar merely shrugged. ‘My men will entertain themselves.’ His fingers shifted, a subtle touch that was almost a caress.
I will not be your entertainment!
Twisting her wrist, she broke his hold easily.
‘I would rather not witness such revelry. I will retire for the night, but do enjoy drinking with your men.’ Loudly so that all could hear her indignant fury, she said, ‘If any harm comes to my daughter, I will kill you. This I vow before all my people and the gods!’
She rose from her seat, but to her dismay Agnar followed her, until they stood side by side.
Unlike her first wedding feast, there were no jokes or cheers, no bawdy pushing of the bride and groom towards their bedchamber. Her people looked up at her with pity and dismay in their eyes and she swallowed the weight of their gaze.
I have disappointed them. The thought cut her like a knife and she balled her fists, hating every moment of her shame. Tonight, she would be bedded by the new King and she’d never felt less human.
Once again, she was a trophy to be owned and coveted. But this time she was fully aware of it.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she raised her chin and turned away from him.
She heard him follow her, his footsteps heavy and calm.
She refused to glance back as she made her way off the royal dais.
She walked in front of the benches, her people lowering their gaze as she passed, while Agnar’s warriors smothered looks of amusement.
It was a slow and humiliating walk out of her hall, leaving as a queen, but knowing the following day she would return as a wife…
lesser. Her discomfort didn’t ease as she continued down the corridor to the King’s chamber.
Heimdall had carried her on their wedding night, his men making lewd comments, until he’d been forced to kick them away and rush them into her chamber with a laugh.
In contrast, Agnar followed her like an unwelcome shadow, the darkness of the corridor closing in on her as she headed towards the open doorway of the chamber. A couple of torches were lit within, the curtains pulled aside, the bed as imposing as it had always been.
Heimdall’s bed.
She turned quickly in the doorway of the chamber, almost knocking into Agnar who she hadn’t realised was quite so close. Her hands instinctively pushed against the soft wool of his tunic, a scarlet red that matched his banners and the stain of poisoned wine.
‘Is there any need for this?’ she whispered, glancing back down the corridor, grateful to see no guards or warriors watching them.
A muscle jumped in Agnar’s jaw and his green eyes softened with sympathy, almost giving her hope until he said firmly, ‘Yes, there is.’