Chapter 45
Forty-Five
I was half asleep, feeding Halvar with my eyes nearly closed. It was closer to morning than night—I could feel that much, but I hoped it wasn’t too close. I wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep—
“What is this?” I shouted, overcome with a sour, terrified rage despite how depleting the last few days had been.
Moonlight from the open window allowed me to see—just barely—that Halvar’s tiny hand was blue. The whole palm was blue.
Fell shot up, angry, then confused, then laughing when he saw my face. “What is it?”
“Halvar’s hand is blue!”
“Ah, it is only paint. I thought I cleaned it off, but last night it was dark, and I was tired.”
I could vaguely remember Fell coming to bed after I’d fallen asleep.
“Why would he have paint on his hand?”
Fell closed his eyes, looking like he was going back to sleep. He pointed at his shield, and though I was moments away from shouting at him to wake up properly and explain himself, my eyes caught on the blue on the shield.
It was leaning against the wall beneath the window, the side with the arm straps facing our bed.
A little blue handprint.
I wanted to cry at the sweetness, but also from the weight of reality.
Fell could be fighting soon, and I hated that.
The window above his shield was open, and the ledge had a dish with a piece of rosewood on it, the tip burnt black from the smudging Fell must have done after I’d gone to sleep.
A carved totem of Yorunn, the goddess Fell sought out most. A cedar branch…
I was used to Fell’s magical inclinations by this point, but I’d never thought about using them as a guide.
They revealed—perfectly, I realized—when he was worried or tense.
He’d stayed up after I’d fallen asleep, cleansing his shield, preparing, letting the sea breeze wash over him as he performed his rituals.
A lump formed in my throat. “And where is my handprint?”
Fell laughed with his eyes closed, not yet back to sleep. “You will see yourself if you look,” he murmured.
At first I didn’t, but as my eyes adjusted further to the light, I found my mark. It wasn’t my hand, but rather, my lyre. Painted neatly beside Halvar’s handprint.
Sometimes I found love light and giggly and sweet. Sometimes it was sore and heavy. That morning, it was as raw as skin beaten for months by the wind and the salt of the sea.
We made our way into Aalt at the first hint of dawn.
I’d promised Dania I would come and see her before leaving.
I’d promised Fara we would accept her travelling gifts at her tenement, before she and Rowan would join us on the docks, where the four of us, along with Halvar, would depart with the king.
The city smelled like smoke and ash and spruce—the most common wood used in Aalt. Most of the buildings had lost the honey colour of freshly cut wood and turned grey from the wind and the rain.
The moment I came to Dania’s tenement in the talisman district, I feared I’d made a mistake. Her face told me she would be as crass and snide as usual, but I ached as I thought of parting.
“You will be back before my baby comes,” she said. “Or I shan’t speak to you again.”
The pair of us. So cold compared to the Norsern that surrounded us.
So harsh. I could say nothing that would capture my feeling, so I hugged her, and when I let go, it felt like a layer of myself—in the way snakes have many layers—a layer was peeling off me.
A layer that hoped things wouldn’t change. That piece of me would stay with her.
“Now, begone with you,” Dania said. And though her words were rough, her eyes were warm and kind and, dare I say, the tiniest bit watery.
I nodded, and we left, making our way to the herb district where Fara lived. Where Rowan now lived as well, I supposed. I was about to knock on the door, but Fell said, “Let us give them a few moments more?”
After he’d spoken, I could hear the creaking and the moaning.
It was just as well, Fell and I were so tired, we simply stood there in silence, watching Aalt grow less and less blue as morning settled over the city.
Finally, they seemed to be done for a reasonable amount of time, and Fell knocked.
I heard them hurriedly dressing before Fara opened the door.
She had cleared most of the room she rented. There had always been herbs hanging, and shells and stones and tonics scattered about, but it was bare. Empty apart from the bedroll and two packed bags.
“What will the house spirits do while you are gone with nothing to look at?” Fell said.
Fara smirked. “My cousin will come and take the room. She likes things neat.” She turned to me. “You are not leaving your hair loose for the journey, are you?”
I hadn’t thought on it at all.
“The wind will turn it into a nest. Here. Before the gifts, come.”
So I sat while Fara addressed my hair. She dipped a comb into something sweet-smelling and combed through my hair before she braided it, keeping the sides tight to my head. “This way, you will not have to think about tending to your hair for many moons.”
Rowan watched her work with so much adoration that my own heart was warmed.
I wondered if a year from now the four of us would be sitting somewhere lovely, with Halvar a bigger boy, and a new baby.
Maybe Fara’s, maybe mine. They, too, had left their shields beneath the open window, with a crisp-scented wood burning over them.
“Let us listen to the city wake, and then have a shot of vinegar and our travel gifts, and then we will go.”
Fara held her hands out for Halvar, and once she had him, the four of us sat in her empty room. “Close your eyes, pulling the breath in through your nose,” she instructed. “Pull the air deep, all the way to the womb, all the way to the tail of the spine.”
I heard Fell’s deep breath beside me as I filled my lungs slowly, but completely.
“And release slowly,” Fara said. “Valla taught me to breathe this way. It is easy to feel close to the gods when the breath is right. The gods are in the air… the city breathes them, too.”
I was used to Fara’s poetic way of speaking, her focus on symbolism. It didn’t bother me at all anymore. It was simply part of my life, because Rowan was part of my life, and he loved her. His face couldn’t hide it if he tried.
“Now!” Fara giggled, slapping the floor to get our attention. “I have something for Fell!”
It was mushrooms. Her gift for Fell was mushrooms.
He loved them and thanked her repeatedly.
“For you, Gentlewoman.” Rowan presented me with what was, by far, the better gift, but one that I abhorred.
It was a dagger, silver and shiny, the handle carved to look like Islish weaving. It even came with a leather scabbard, still firm in its newness.
I knew Rowan had made it for me. He’d told me that Faller had rented access to a smithing shop for him for several days, wanting to ensure that Rowan could make his own living should he be granted Norsernship.
“Thank you,” I said, wishing with my whole heart that I would never have to look upon it. Never have to think of it.
Fell was mesmerized. “It is beautiful,” he said to Rowan. “You have outdone all our gifts.”
I hadn’t known giving gifts at the start of a trip was a common Norsern thing, but it was, and Fell had handled it. A pouch of dried daisy petals for Fara.
“To keep my blood clean! Thank you, friend.”
For Rowan, he had dried rose root and a small wooden totem: the hammer of Frole, boat builder to the gods.
Master of crafts. It hadn’t been lost on me that Rowan had become more and more curious about the Norsern gods.
Much faster than I had. How Fell had known which one to select for Rowan, I couldn’t begin to guess.
And then, as the day became sunny and the city began to wake in full, we made our way to the docks closest to the sea, to set off for Byernen with King Arik and his many raiders.