Chapter 26
“Don’t get any weird ideas!” I hiss.
I’m fuming. It’s already weird. I’m already dishonored. What unwed girl sleeps in a tent with some strange man? An older one at that. A skald, to top it all off. I unroll my blanket and toss it on the floor.
“What kind of ideas do you mean?” asks the bastard crow.
As if he doesn’t know. Of course he’s unbothered.
Surely his friends would slap him on the shoulder with a shithead grin—‘Well done, my man,’ they would say, or ‘Another notch on your belt, big guy.’ How can men be glorified for freely bedding women when we get shunned for the same? Humiliated. Even exiled, I’ve heard.
“Don’t play stupid,” I whisper harshly.
What would my fellows think if they knew we were sleeping in the same tent? What would Vidar think? It’s just such a risk for my reputation. I can’t believe Ylvin is so blind. A wise-woman? More like a drunken bitch with a simpleton for a husband.
“No one will know,” says the skald. “Don’t worry.”
I glare at him with righteous fury.
“Easy for you to say! You can fuck goats, trolls, or maidens—it’s all the same. You can still find a wife after!”
“Those are very strange ideas,” he whispers as he casually lies on his blanket, leaning on his elbow. “No one’s fucking any goats or trolls or maidens, okay? Promise.”
“You don’t get it, do you? That’s not the point. People talk.”
“What about—” he pauses, as if he’s deep in thought. “Lynxes, magpies, and fir trees—can we fuck those?”
“Fuck you, your kin, and your ancestors,” I say as I turn my back to him and unfold my cow-hide. I don’t think I’ve ever said anything so insulting to anyone. If I said it to any other man, I would expect a violent repercussion. But on some level, I know Ari won’t beat me or even slap me.
“I’ve known many skalds—even northern ones—but yours is the filthiest mouth I have come across,” he says with a laugh.
Despite myself, I stifle a giggle. Northerners are notorious for their endless curses, even when they are in a good mood.
I only swear when angry, I think. In some strange way, Ari seems to mean it as a compliment.
I continue preparing the hide to sleep on, bending over on my knees to stretch it out and spread it evenly.
The worst thing in the world is an uneven hide with crinkles all bundled up under you.
One of the corners refuses to untangle and find its place.
“Fucking cow-hide,” I say under my breath.
“I have to say, Kilda,” I hear behind me. “My pants look really good on you.”
I turn to him, realizing I have been bending over in tight leather pants, displaying my ass for him to enjoy at his leisure. It hadn’t struck me, but of course this old pervert loves sneaking peeks at the curves of younger women.
“Pervert,” I say without sounding angry, to brush it off. “They are my pants now.”
I move to the other side to keep adjusting the hide. No more view of my hindquarters for the bastard skald. If only this corner would concede, surrender. Then I could catch some sleep. I’m exhausted after the walk, the food, and most of all, concentrating on Ylvin’s words.
“It’s true, the pants are yours,” he says, pausing. “Uh… I don’t mean to be rude but, now I can see down your shirt.”
I straighten instantly, covering my chest with my arms. My cheeks flush. What had he seen? Such a bastard. This is the worst possible scenario. How am I to learn about Seidr magic with an old pervert staring at me?
“Keep your eyes to yourself,” I snap, pointing a finger at him.
“It’s hard not to peek when such plump plums hang so lush from their tree.”
Ah, a kenning, poetry. How fitting. Just perfect. Exactly what a girl wants to hear when forced to sleep with a man staring at her chest.
“You’re like a fucking animal,” I say as I shake my head. Now I’m actually trying to hurt him. But the laws of honor don’t seem to affect him as they do other men. Had I said this to Vidar, he would punish me. Maybe it’s one of the privileges of being a skald. To be an honorless dog.
“Please,” he says with humor as I consider throwing my cow-hide at him just to make him shut the fuck up before he even begins. “Animal is a bit harsh—I preferred goat fucker.”
“I don’t care what you prefer.”
Tears press behind my eyes, fighting to escape.
But I won’t let Ari enjoy my defeat so he can gloat and write weak poetry.
It’s all so unfair. Ylvin doesn’t care. Fuck the cow-hide.
I will sleep with a lump under my back. Shitty hide.
I slam myself unceremoniously under my blanket with my clothes on, leather pants and all.
If Ylvin had let me sleep with her, I would wear my underdress.
But with the skald? No chance. No chance in Hel, Valhalla, or Midgard. Any which place. I turn my back to Ari.
“Alright,” says the bastard skald. “Goodnight.”
“Just shut the fuck up,” I whisper, trying to color my tone with venom.
He lies back. He doesn’t speak. What if the farm hears of this? They will laugh. They will point. They will hate me. No one will want me. It’s so unfair.
I wiggle my body, trying to avoid the lump beneath me. I fail. I’m humiliated. I’m dishonored. And… I’m uncomfortable. It’s so unfair.
I finally let tears flow, some trickle freely down my cheek.
Others pool on the side of my nose. I wipe them away.
It feels good to release. I don’t think I’ve cried since I was taken.
Since I was enslaved. Or did I? I’ve had to keep a tough exterior.
An honorable facade. I want to be known as strong, not as a wailing wench.
I sniffle, trying to mask my weakness. I hear shuffling from Ari’s side of the tent.
“Look, Kilda,” he whispers softly. “I won’t tell anyone about this. I promise. We can talk to Ylvin about it tomorrow.”
I ignore him, pretending I’m sleeping. He’s been so nonchalant about all of this. He just can’t relate to my position.
“I hope you find rest,” he whispers.
Images of my previous life flicker in my head.
Narve, Groa, Father. Was it enough? Am I enough now?
Ylvin’s smile and slender body come and go.
Then Ari. Ari. The food. I should escape.
Run through the night. Find my people and make them travel south.
Away from the vengeful Vidar and Asbjorn.
I should escape. Head for the hills. Break the chains.
I should…
Darkness.