Chapter 18
Eighteen
The morning after Dania and I had wandered the palace, the sky churned black and threatening above.
The sea surrounding Aalt whipped itself into a frothy frenzy.
I watched from the window in my chamber, feeling the crackle in the air that meant lightning might strike.
I had nothing to catch it with. No amber or copper thread to work with, no place secure enough to leave Loric’s gold for more than a few hours. It felt a great waste to me.
My tongue was sore from the strain of my Norsern lessons with the king—the back of my throat as well, from trying to cough words as the sea dogs did. My shoulders and hips itched endlessly as my scabs stitched themselves closed. Needless to say, I was in a bitter mood.
And then, I was summoned. Not by King Arik, but by a guard—a woman I didn’t know.
“Come. Arik. Come.”
She spoke the phrase three or four times before I understood she’d come to fetch me.
I did as I was bid, feeling the whole palace lean ever-so-slightly as the wind outside pressed into it, as the black sea beneath it spun.
There was something in the air: sickly and sour.
I found myself lifting my skirt as the sea dogs did, so I could hurry all the better.
The woman guiding me wore linen trousers and made no effort to walk slowly on my behalf.
The halls were empty, echoing our steps.
We arrived in an autumn-laced courtyard with a wooden floor stained dark from the rain.
I debated taking off the woollen socks I wore to keep them dry, but the cold was too vibrant, and there were several more pairs of socks in my chamber.
The woman led me into the throng of sea dogs gathered in the courtyard—they were tense.
I could feel it, though their faces weren’t showing it; their stances were forcibly relaxed.
They held steady as the frigid wind riled their hair and billowed loose clothing.
King Arik was there as well, standing across the courtyard from me, his steadiness so firm it almost made noise.
I associated the feeling of the scene with demonstrative punishments—something that happened from time to time in my order.
When a heresy was widely known about, the punishment must also be widely known.
I shuddered and wished myself away from the courtyard, away from the crowd that had gathered to watch what I was certain would be a gruesome sight.
I was correct but also incorrect.
A man entered the centre of the courtyard.
He had white eyelashes and a pale blond beard.
He kept his eyes on the ground. His fingers curled into his fists and then uncurled.
Curled and uncurled. He was a man preparing.
My heart stuttered as I watched him, as I caught some of his feeling: determination and woe and…
weight. The whole courtyard was heavy—ripe with unspoken thoughts.
Another man entered the centre: he was much older than the first, hair as white as birch bark, skin mottled with the marks of life.
But there was great similarity between them.
So much so that I quickly wondered if they were father and son.
The more I stared, the more I couldn’t doubt it.
The same face, maybe forty years apart in age.
The older man said something, and a laugh rippled through the crowd, easing some of the tension, but not all of it.
Someone shouted from among those gathered, and the older man pulled his sword from his sheath and pointed it at the speaker.
He said something in return, and my blood swirled in my wrists, in my breasts.
I knew only from the tone, only from the feeling of those near me who could understand, that he had said something heartfelt.
There was pressure behind my eyes, as if a deeper part of me understood his words.
The air tasted salty yet… tainted somehow, almost like the wind was crying or laughing. Or both.
Father approached son, and still, the son did not look up.
The father set his free hand on the son’s face and came even closer, resting his forehead against his son’s.
They stood there, heads together in silence as the courtyard rocked and the rain dampened the shoulders of my dress.
There has been no crime, I told myself as I let out a long, relief-filled breath.
But then, son looked at father, and all the warmth within me was ripped away. Father raised his blade, and the courtyard was filled with the ringing of steel.
The shring, woosh, clang, of swords meeting.
The grimace, grunt, huff, of warriors swinging with all their might.
I took a step back, fear and horror demanding that I get as far away from the fight as I could, but the woman who’d guided me there grasped my elbow. “Stay,” she muttered, with immense firmness.
My breaths grew ragged as I tried pulling away again, not looking, but knowing all the same that the fight carried on. Her fingers dug into my arm.
And then it was over. The son’s sword had gone through the gut, its blood-coated end sticking out the elder man’s back.
I whimpered, my mouth left hanging open.
I’d never seen death before, let alone one so violent, so avoidable.
Son pulled his sword out with a groan, and his father collapsed onto the driftwood floor. Blood so dark it was almost black pooled around them. Son knelt and wept, and I felt the urge to scream at him, at everyone gathered. What did you think was going to happen?
I tugged again, and the woman who’d guided me to the terrible scene released her hold.
I ran, pushing my way through the thick sea dog bodies, out of the courtyard and back to my chamber.
I pushed the door closed with my back and sank to the floor, trembling and sobbing, wiping my nose repeatedly on the sleeve of my dress, unable to think of anything other than the dead man’s gentle gaze.
What a terrible place I am in. What a terrible, wretched group of animals. I hate them all.
I didn’t have much time to sulk, for King Arik came to my chamber and knocked on the door. “Gentlewoman? Gentlewoman, I came to see you were well.”
I am not, I thought. I am not well, and I will be worse each moment I stay here.
“Gentlewoman, open the door.”
I huffed—quietly, of course—and stood, smoothing my skirt and wiping my eyes before opening the door.
I did clear my expression, but I knew instantly that he could see through it.
His face softened. “Gentlewoman, I apologize. I would have warned you, only things were decided so quickly, and I had to be there for Erland... and for Broder.”
“Why did you have me attend at all?”
“Ah, I debated, Gentlewoman, but you are known in the palace. Someone would have noticed you were not present. It is a bad omen for people not to attend.”
I frowned, trying to keep myself from crying. As sad as I was, I was also angry, and the angry part of me didn’t want to appear soft. “It is a bad omen to miss a murder?”
His lips parted with the hint of a smile.
“Not so docile as we pretend, hmm? I have been waiting to meet this side of you, Gentlewoman, but tonight is not a good evening for it.” He softened further.
“Erland was dying already. Broder simply sped the process. It is probably hard for your mind to untangle, Gentlewoman, but the faith of the northern peoples asks only one thing of them. Bravery. If a person lives and faces what the gods throw at them—looks straight at it, as it is coming—that is what earns a favourable afterlife. There are different afterlives, and the option to come back is always available, but most in my court seek Hyrold’s Ship as the place they go next.
It is the fashion of the last hundred years.
Hyrold demands a brave death. In this way, he is forgiving.
A life of timidity can be overruled by five courageous moments at the end.
Erland wanted to run toward his death. He wanted to be sure.
He was not guaranteed to live until the next raiding season, so he asked for this. ”
It made sense, but it also felt barbaric. To demand bravery. What of the children? What was to happen when they died from fever or whatever else took the lives of children? That was my thinking at the time. Though I knew almost nothing of children then.
“For most people, the more witnesses, the more bravery required. I had you come because I had everyone come, because Erland was a great man who deserved a great death. He should have been scaling a wall with fifty arrows flying at his head at the end, but his liver had other plans. His son faced it with him, likely earning his own place on Hyrold’s Ship.
He made his choice, and I didn’t want to stall, to risk his courage leaving him even a little, for the sake of your comfort.
I trust you will understand.” King Arik’s gaze hardened in an instant, with a hint of a threat within it.
“Now. I have a funeral to arrange and conduct. If you are up to it, I would be glad to have you play something for all my saddened friends.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded.
I attended the funerary gathering. I listened to the moans of those grieving and the steady thrumming of the drums. I felt the heat of bodies and the shock of so much raw emotion on display.