Chapter 40
Eidunn forms a tress from my hair, tugging roughly as she braids. The woman is brutal, no pity for her victim.
“Ow! Take it easy!”
Eidunn snorts behind me.
“The price of beauty,” she says.
“Ripping out my hair, making me bald—not beautiful.”
“Stop whining. Your hair is very healthy. You must have eaten well at the Volva’s.”
I try to nod in agreement, but Eidunn uses my hair to yank my head back.
“By Odin,” she whispers. “Sit still.”
“I did eat well. Ari is a great cook.”
“Is he?” Eidunn sounds surprised.
“Yes, but your rabbit stew—a competitor, no doubt.”
She leans forward, shaking my head.
“Just a competitor?”
“I meant better, by far,” I giggle.
“Good.”
“But really, you are a great cook.”
“You say that now, when your hair is at my mercy.”
We both laugh.
“No, that stew was amazing, with the thyme—so good.”
“The stew sat overnight, while you were passed out on the floor. Always makes them taste better.”
Eidunn’s fingers move down, nimbly weaving my hair. She will style me to match her look from yesterday. My request.
“Thanks for laying furs over me, by the way. I just blacked out.”
“No worries.”
“But yeah, yesterday’s stew is always better,” I agree. “You know your way around a kitchen.”
“Had to learn, with Ausveig hounding my ass.”
I snicker.
“She can be tough, but it feels like she cares.”
“She’s a good woman.”
I nod again—or try. Eidunn punishes me with three rapid tugs on my braid. She doesn’t blink an eye at inflicting pain.
“Sit still, woman. Do you have worms in your rump?”
“My mother always said that to me,” I say, wincing.
“Mine too.”
We sit in silence, reminded of a life that used to be our own, of loved ones we had close to our hearts. All ripped from us by men with weapons. Ruthless men. Men—it’s always men.
“There,” says Eidunn. “Was that so hard?”
I stand, a huge grin on my face.
“How do I look?” I ask, touching my braid from all angles. It feels perfect, no strands hanging out. Tight.
“Not as ugly as usual,” she says with a shithead grin.
“Meanest bitch in the valley!” I shriek wide-eyed.
We laugh. Eidunn stands, laying a hand on me.
“You look like Freya reborn,” she says, squeezing my arm. “But if you ever call me a bitch again…”
We both giggle. Eidunn is a friend. I’ve never had anyone I can joke with without fearing they’ll take it wrong. Female companionship has always eluded me. I was better friends with Narve throughout my childhood than I ever was with other girls. It feels good, being part of the women’s circle.
“I’m nervous about meeting Sigurd,” I say.
“Don’t be. He will be impressed by your, uh, polished appearance.”
“As opposed to my usual rough and tumble style?”
“Style isn’t the word I would use but… sure.”
“You can be vicious!”
“But really, I would be more nervous about Thyra feeling threatened.”
“Really?”
“No, not really.” She shakes her head before looking up in thought. “Or maybe.”
“That poor woman’s heart is heavy,” I say, pulling my blue robe over my linen undergarments. Ylvin was plain naked under hers. Not me—at least not around the farm.
“I love this blue,” says Eidunn, touching the fabric. “But yes, heavier than you know. Imagine your husband being murdered in front of you.”
“He was murdered?”
“Oh yes, with arrows. Thyra couldn’t do anything. She could only watch him drown in his own blood. Gurgling as his life slipped away.”
“What the fuck…” I mutter.
“What the fuck indeed. She hasn’t been the same since.”
“She was different?”
“When her mother died, she received the keys to the farm. Not easy, but she carried the weight—lifted the farm, some might say. Good at organizing.”
“You liked her?”
“Oh yes, everybody did. She was a stern but fair ruler. Her mind is darker now.”
“I notice. Poor woman.”
“Yes, very unfortunate.”
I breathe deeply. Was that what I saw when I touched Thyra? A vision of her sadness? A depiction of her damaged mind? It felt like more. Something beyond Thyra’s own being.
Eidunn’s sadness also bothers me. I brace myself.
“I… what about… I’m sorry for asking, Eidunn, but…”
“Just ask, by Odin.”
“What about Njord?”
“What about him?”
“Is it still the same?”
“I’m a slave, Kilda.”
“So am I.”
“You’re a Volva.”
“Yes, but—”
“I like you, but please stay out of it.”
“I only want to help.”
“Help? What will you do? Challenge him to a duel?”
“As you say, I am Volva. Perhaps I can use my position.”
“Tell the jarl, perhaps? So he knows of my dishonor?”
“You’re being abused, Eidunn.”
“A man won’t think that way. He will claim I just regret being easy to bed.”
“Thyra then.”
Eidunn laughs, a dry, tired sound.
“It’s complicated. Thyra wouldn’t give a fuck, especially if it came from you.”
“Then tell her yourself.”
My new friend’s brow furrows.
“You don’t think I’ve thought of that?”
“I don’t know, I just—”
“You just, you just… you just stay the fuck out of it, Kilda.”
She moves to the door, choosing flight over confrontation. I can’t imagine the pressure she is under. The shame of being made a victim.
“Please, don’t go,” I beg.
She stops without turning. Her heavy breathing fills the silence.
“Please, Eidunn,” I continue. “I’m sorry. I want you to be happy.”
“Fine. I know, but not everything is so simple. Not everything is easy to solve.”
“I won’t mention it again. I promise. Let’s relax a little and talk about something else. Eat.”
“I have duties to attend to, and you have a meeting with the jarl. He’s probably waiting already.”
I grab Eidunn’s arm and turn her toward me. I have to look up to meet her eyes.
“Thank you for your care, Eidunn,” I say, pulling her into a firm hug.
At first, she stands rigid, but when I don’t let go, she relaxes and folds her arms around my back.
“My pleasure, Kilda,” she whispers.
“Let’s have a party here, tonight. Just the slave girls.”
She snorts.
“We will never be allow—”
“I will convince Sigurd.”
“Right… if you do, I will come.”
“Promise me!” I say, holding up a finger.
“I promise.”
“Good, see you soon then. Thanks for the hair.”
She steps out, turning to me with a brave smile. Her voice is a whisper, so low I can barely hear her.
“You look beautiful.”
I smile.
“Blessings, Eidunn. Freya protect you.”