Talismans of Desire (Oaths of Ruin Saga #1)

Chapter 1

My heart is a witch’s drum. The moment blurs like a dream, with moonlight piercing the thick fog. A shadow shifts before me—my cloaked shape cast against the wall of a foreign house, by a foreign fjord.

Everyone thinks I’m sleeping. I should be tucked beneath my furs. What would my folk think if they saw me now? Masked and stalking the night. Would they recognize me as Kilda?

A quick peek through the wind-eye tells me the couple is asleep, snuggling under the covers, safe within their nest. Four walls, a roof, stability. They all take that for granted. Not me, not us.

I prowl toward their door. A hidden smile twitches on my lips as I remember the woman riding her man the night before—eyes closed, head tossed back in abandon.

I’d pulled back from the wind-eye, pulse raised by secret longing tinged with a drop of jealousy.

A caring husband, a perfect house, sizzling intimacy. She has it all.

Burying my grin, I press a thin iron rod between the door and its frame. It creaks open and meets the bolt’s resistance. Freya, forgive. My finger sneaks into the gap, pushing the wooden bolt aside so I can slip into someone else’s home uninvited.

These people are wealthy. Probably a raider and his wife. The woman’s clothes are a dead giveaway. Such colors. So why not buy an iron padlock? It would have made me turn on my heel. When I finally have a house, when we finally settle, I’ll buy a padlock.

Not borrowed, not stolen. My own.

I step in, keeping to the wall as I run my fingers along its smooth planks. The smell of boiled meat washes over me, flooding my mouth. No second portions were offered for dinner. Scanning the room, I scope targets and plan my route.

Southern stories tell of legendary robbers stealing rubies the size of fists from distant stone castles. Me, I’m satisfied with a good pair of leather boots. That makes for a good night.

But a good night can lead to a short life.

A shudder runs through me. I could lose a hand for this, or both—all depending on the jarl’s mood. The strangled scream of a skinny, hairy man being hanged rings in my mind’s ear. He had stolen a chicken. A hard moment to forget for a young girl.

I shake my head to clear it. Stay focused, stay sharp. Trembling, I step forward to ransack the closest chest. The floorboards moan under my feet. I wince. I freeze. A bead of sweat trickles down my temple. Only silence. Thank the gods.

My foot tests the next plank. It doesn’t complain. Neither does the next one.

Open the chest. Blood rushes in my ears as I pick through their belongings.

A roll of textile, dyed deep blue like the ocean.

So soft to the touch, it feels valuable.

This could dress a jarl or his fancy wife.

Easy to sell at our traveler markets, easier than manufactured clothes. It goes in the bag.

If my people saw me now, what would be left? How often are we travelers blamed for missing items? They would disown me. Groa would end my tutoring. No more Seidr, no more future. I wouldn’t even belong with those who don’t belong.

How long can a woman survive as an outlaw? The world is harsh, the world is cold. Cold like the weather.

The house creaks. My stomach clenches. It’s just the wind. The couple sleeps. No one else is in the house. No family. No children.

They don’t even know I exist, but I know a lot about them. When they go to sleep, always together. When they wake up, always the man first. For three days I’ve observed them sneak off at any time of day to share intimate moments in bed. They have no children… yet.

Sneaking to the next chest, I confirm my suspicions. The man is a warrior. Within is his battle gear—tough leather, some chain mail, a helmet. Too heavy.

But beneath it all, a dagger. Its ornate hilt glints in the moonlight, showing a horse growing out of a spiral. Such luck. Patterns of leaves adorn its sheath. Probably worth a fortune.

I hesitate for a second. A warrior’s blade—much more likely to be reported than a roll of fabric. But it’s too easy, too valuable, too light. I stuff it next to the textile.

Time to disappear, fade back into the shadows, unknown. Stealing less is always better. If two things go missing, the wife will think she’s messy. Three things and she knows it’s not her fault. Hopefully, her husband won’t blame her for the missing blade. By then, I’ll be long gone.

My shoulders relax as I approach the door.

I know to end games while still ahead. If only my father had learned that.

If I got a coin for every coin he lost, and a drink for every drink he gulped, I’d be a rich drunk.

The man keeps a pair of dice like a girl keeps a doll.

‘Today I win big. I know it.’ How many times have I heard that?

What a fool. At least he knows some good jokes.

I exit the building, gliding in linen pants. A dress for a burglary? A sure path to ruin. Nothing botches a robbery like a foot snagging a skirt, sending the fleeing bandit stumbling to the ground. My dress is for the day, my tunic too. I love my pants at night.

Break-ins make my entire body vibrate. They heighten my senses. My heart stampedes. Still, a weight settles in my forehead. My focus slips. I yearn for my wool blanket.

Staying low, I take swift steps toward the tree line, instinctively seeking the safety of cover. As I reach it, I glance at the house I just robbed. My enamored victims. No sound.

I got away with it.

They seem nice enough. Always touching, helping each other with their daily tasks, having conversations I wish I could overhear.

He is so soft with her. She smiles a lot.

The perfect life. I hope they get the child they are working so hard to conceive.

A smile grows at the cheeky thought. They sure are working hard.

Freya, let them get their family.

Barreling through the darkness, I offer a quick prayer of forgiveness to Balder. A perfect life, yes, many a woman’s dream. A man, a house, a padlock. A home, every traveler’s dream. Here I am, living the opposite of all that.

Me, a wife? Hardly.

The strings of fate brought me to my position. Groa hopes to shape me, to help me weave those threads. What if she saw me now?

I know what I am. A simple trickster. A liar. A thief. Too good at this.

I belong in the night. The night belongs to me.