Chapter 38
Ihave been summoned. Ari stands next to me, broad-shouldered, hands clasped behind his back.
His spread legs display dominance. My blue robe sits tight—several brooches and pins were necessary to shorten it.
Ylvin is considerably taller. I keep my posture firm and straight-backed, yet with a submissive and friendly face.
The last thing I want is to seem cocky and threatening. Not with what I am about to ask.
“You return,” says Sigurd, motioning toward us.
Vidar and Thyra stand beside their father’s throne. Thyra is stone-faced, probably hoping I would return shattered or defeated. Dead, perhaps, a corpse. She almost got her wish.
Vidar’s expressions alternate—a friendly smile when his eyes are on me, stern hostility when his gaze moves to Ari.
These men are rivals, apparently because of me.
Not that I asked for such attention. Last time we all stood here, they almost clashed.
It feels like so long ago, though just a few days have passed.
“We do, my jarl,” replies Ari.
Sigurd nods at Ari before turning to me.
“Has our budding Volva planted roots for her tree to grow from?”
“Yes, my jarl,” I say. “Ylvin was an excellent teacher, strict but patient.”
“She is a woman of many talents,” replies Sigurd.
“Indeed, she is. Her insights have opened my mind to possibilities I would never have dreamt of before ascending the mountain.”
Thyra snorts.
“Ascending the mountain,” she says. “Surely you have learned more than painting vivid imagery with empty words.”
“Lady Thyra,” I say, bowing my head. “Ylvin is merciless in her method. Through her wisdom I have faced the frailty of my mortal shell, my position as a woman, as well as the necessity of the natural order.”
“Sounds like Ylvin,” says Sigurd with a smile.
“She helped me glimpse reality beyond the veil,” I say without stopping for Sigurd’s remark.
The jarl’s eyes light up.
“You have been beyond the veil?”
“Only in thought, my lord.”
“By the gods,” says Thyra. “In thought? Then I have lain in Freya’s lap as she braided my hair.”
“You seem to carry Freya’s blessing, my lady,” I reply quickly. “Both her strength and love are present in your being.”
Thyra frowns at my compliment, like I hadn’t given it in good faith. Sigurd, however, is nodding, pleased at my replies.
“Very good,” he says. “Kilda, we will speak tomorrow, of your future. Ari, I would exchange words now, follow me.”
“As you please, my lord,” says Ari as Sigurd stands.
“He’s always eager to please,” says Vidar with an ice-cold stare at Ari. No smile. We all understand. A serious insult to Ari’s honor. The skald moves swiftly. Vidar reacts, ready to engage. Last time this happened, I stepped back. This time, I step forward. My palms face them.
“There will be no violence in the jarl’s hall,” I shout in my deepest voice. “End of story.”
I used the same words as Sigurd did before our departure. On purpose. A smug grin grows on Ari’s face.
“Vidar saved by a woman,” he says. “How fitting.”
“You would know,” replies Vidar as he pushes past my hand. I slap him firmly on his wall of a chest, halting his advance.
“Take it outside,” I growl at him.
“Maybe I will,” says Vidar, eyes locked on Ari.
Jarl Sigurd’s face is red. He is fuming. No surprise considering his own son creates such disorder in the hall. Luckily, only close family and allies are present, not the entire valley. He would have to punish the two men publicly with more witnesses.
“Final chance, you two,” he says. “Take it outside, like Kilda says.”
The jarl uses my words. A victory. I push both men in the chest, attempting to force them farther apart. But neither budge. Both are too strong for me to move. I will find a way to control men. As a Volva, I will dominate those stronger than me.
“Jarl Sigurd,” I say, dropping to my knees before the jarl’s empty throne. The men stand down, heeding Sigurd’s threat.
“What now?” says Sigurd, still annoyed.
“I…” The words choke my throat. What an insolent wench I am. “I humbly ask to be… to be freed from bondage.”
I look up at Sigurd, who has a look of surprise on his scarlet face.
“Freed from bondage?” laughs Thyra.
“Let her speak,” says Sigurd, silencing his daughter with a raised hand.
“A Volva cannot fully harness her powers, cannot free her mind, if she is not free in body.”
“Ridiculous,” shouts Thyra. “So now every slave claiming to be touched by Freya or Odin or Loki is to be freed?”
“It was Ylvin who taught me this,” I say, keeping my eyes on Sigurd. “A seer’s spirit cannot fly if her body is chained.”
“I will consid—” begins Sigurd.
“She’s a notorious liar!” interrupts Thyra. “A known thief! She should be happy she still has her hands and nose!”
“Silence!” shouts the jarl. “I will consider it. In the meantime, Kilda, I know that a Volva needs her own space. I have had a house prepared for you.”
A house… for me? I can’t believe my ears. A place to practice. A place to grow.
A place of my own.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“We will talk about your freedom. For now, I wish to speak to Ari.”
Thyra is enraged. A vicious scowl twists her face. I’m happy we’re not alone—I’m sure she would strangle me to death. Try, at least.
“This lying witch, freed?” she froths. “A simple blue robe and she thinks she can order nobles around. Let her prove herself!”
I step forward, ripping a needle pin out of my dress. The bottom of my robe falls down, dragging on the floor as I approach her.
“Hold this, my lady,” I whisper.
“Stupid girl, you—”
“Please, hold it.”
She opens her palm. I drop the pin in it. All eyes are on Thyra’s hand. Please gods, don’t forsake me now.
I clutch her fist, closing her fingers around the pin.
My head is cleared of words. I remember the cold.
The feeling. On my body. How could I forget?
How lonely I felt at the bottom of the river.
Crushed by the endless torrent. Here we are.
You and me. I feel the vibration. The cold.
Outward. The pin is in Thyra’s hand. It grows colder. I know, because I am.
“Do you feel it, my lady?” I whisper.
“Let me go,” she says, wriggling to escape my grip.
In the chaos, I see it. A dark pit. A leech. Latched on. I close my eyes to see better. I know now. I know about Thyra. The weight she carries.
The second she rips her hand out of my grip, I understand.
Thyra is in the cold. Lonely. At the bottom of the river. Crushed by the endless torrent. But she isn’t with you. Not in the White. A noble woman with no choice. Now I know.
Haunted nights of torment.
Thyra has no one. Her struggles cannot be shared.
Stuck in a blizzard. No escape. Now I know.
Thyra is alone.