Chapter 22
The bastard crow walks ahead. He just took off from the farm without warning. If Ausveig hadn’t pointed it out to me, I would still be waiting down by the barn like a fool.
Ari and I haven’t exchanged words in the couple of hours we have been walking, but he is aware of me—he’s turned to glance at me a couple times. He meanders upward at a leisurely pace, his dark hair fluttering in a light breeze.
The bastard. The berry-stealing bastard.
Having pushed my body to catch up with him, I’m covered in sweat. I’m boiling over. The light breeze just isn’t enough to cool me down. Climbing a steep mountain covered in trees and plants is not an easy task while wearing a dress. A woolen dress at that. I’m cooked like a stew.
How easy it must be to be a man—wearing pants, not getting pregnant, standing to piss in the forest. Bastards.
The inner skirt sticks to my legs, dragged between my thighs so it chafes against my skin, amplified by the river of sweat pouring out of every crevice.
I should just undress and skip about naked like some liberated or perverted elf.
At least the wind would cool me off. The skald would probably love that, suddenly deciding to walk behind me, under me. For the view. Filthy perverted bastard.
My dress snags a rotting branch—I tug at it but it won’t release. I pull. I yank.
“Fucking bastard!” I shout at the offending branch. “Inbred bastard!”
Sweat drips over my eyebrows and into my eyes, blinding me. Curses! How could it get any worse? The gods are testing me. I swear it. The Jotnar are laughing at my struggles. Howling in amusement as they drink mead from the skulls of men. Ingrates. Entertained by the—
Then I hear it. Actual laughter, from above me. No fucking way. I rub my eyes and squint to see Ari approaching.
“Now you come,” I shout at him. “When I am at my weakest!”
I can’t even see his face clearly—all I see is a blob clad in dark-brown leather coming down the hill. I just know he’s looking smug. I rip my dress from the branch. Who cares if it ruins the fabric? Ari stands above me.
“It is not weakness to overcome a challenge,” he says. “But perhaps it is weak to lose your mind like a panicked chicken.”
He laughs at his own joke. No surprise there.
“Just fuck off, will you?” I say, still wiping my eyes. “I’ll see you at the camp.”
“Is that an appropriate way to speak for a lady?”
“Well, I’m no lady, as you made very clear, calling me Vidar’s new slave girl.”
“I said it to insult Vidar, not you.”
“At least Vidar calls me a woman, not a slave.”
“Oh? Doesn’t his father literally own you?”
“Vidar will free me,” I say. I’m not sure why, but it’s like I’m trying to make Ari jealous by talking of Vidar. A desperate attempt to hurt the feelings of a man I don’t even know. I just know he’s a mangy crow.
He snorts.
“We will see,” he says.
“Right. Why don’t you just return to your cursed house!”
He laughs.
“You know, I heard about that, and—”
“Just fuck off before I choke you with the countless folds of my dress.”
“Ah, that reminds me, I brought something for you.”
Brought something for me? What kind of petty insult or humorless joke will he throw my way this time? How will he offend my honor?
He tosses a bundle into the bushes in front of me. It’s tied together with a string.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Have a look.” He stands over me, one leg raised on a tree trunk, hands on his belt—pretending to be a hero saving a maiden. A childish grin sits on his face like a jarl on his throne.
Picking it up, I instantly feel the quality leather. My jaw drops. I understand what he has offered me.
“Pants?”
“Pants,” he confirms.
“But… why?”
“You said you wished you had pants.”
“When you tricked me into stealing berries?”
“I think what you mean to say is ‘thank you.’”
“Silly bastard,” I say as I unfold them. They even seem to be my size. I am begrudgingly grateful, not that I will give him the pleasure of knowing it.
“You are a rude woman,” he states simply.
“Where did you even get these?”
“The farm.”
“Who gave them to you then?”
“I took them.”
“Took them? Are you going to get me accused of theft yet again?”
“When you stalked the night as a thief, surely you wore pants?”
“Well… yes.”
“So there you go, thief, put them on and let’s keep moving.”
By Freya’s golden locks. I don’t even care if the pants are stolen. I just want to get out of this dress, to be able to move without every bush being a hurdle to be conquered.
“Put them on? Right here in the open?”
He looks around comically.
“I mean, there’s countless trees around, but it’s just us. You can do as you please.”
“I’m sure you’d like that.”
I head to the closest tree large enough to hide behind. But wait. A thought strikes me—what is he expecting in return? Everyone knows how men function. Nothing in this world is free. Especially the favors offered by men.
“What do I owe you for this?”
“It’s a gift, not a trade.”
“My ass! Tell me what you want for the pants.”
“Try a smile.”
I shake my head as I move behind the tree. Cocky bastard.
“No peeking!” I shout.
“I can see anything from anywhere, like Heimdall,” he says with humor.
Heimdall indeed. God of foresight. More like god of shitty poems.
I undo my brooches, letting my wool dress fall to the ground. My underdress is lifted by the breeze, sending cool air up my legs to my stomach. A delight. Already my mood lightens. Keeping my shirt on, bare from the waist down, I hurriedly pull on the pants.
So good. Perfect fit. I begin tying the strings.
Try a smile. What a joke. He wants me to be in his debt, wants me to be grateful. I’ll show him a smile. I’ll show him a foot up his ass, rather.
Try a smile.
What a cocky crow bastard.