Chapter 44
Cold liquid splashes against my skin. I scoop more from the rainwater barrel next to my house, rubbing it on my face.
My head throbs, yearning for more sleep, but I forced myself awake. Since I organized the party, it’s only fitting I am among the first to rise. Being a Volva should not give me the opportunity to skirt my duties. As painful as it is—I am up. Leaders must lead by example. Sigurd will note it.
A delighted squeal next to me.
Sifrid drops her buckets of water and runs over.
“Kilda,” she says, panting.
“Sifrid,” I answer with a smile. The two of us got together to recruit the skald last night. A personal connection affords loyalty. Her eyes are groggy, tinted red, but her energy is high—her smile shines.
“Yesterday was the best.” She grabs me in a hug. “Thank you.”
“I had a lot of fun too,” I reply, returning the embrace.
“It was the best day of the year. You raised all our spirits. Freya bless your gifts.”
Our eyes meet. Hers are full of wonder. I realize she looks to me as something more than a fellow thrall.
She views me as a Volva. There are barely three years between us.
A week ago, we would be considered equals, considered property.
Now, my role has expanded in her mind. Freya has indeed blessed my gifts.
Sifrid does not seem bitter in the slightest. Yesterday’s party had the desired effect.
I am loved for my new role, not hated for its privileges.
“Your spirit is strong,” I reply. “Let me help you with the buckets.”
She grins.
“Thanks, but no, you have your tasks as I have mine. Good help would be another of those parties!”
She runs off to retrieve her buckets and carry them to the longhouse, likely to cook a porridge or revive a stew. My shoulders drop. I breathe out slowly, watching the girl perform her task with a lightness in her step. Not only am I not hated—I am revered, I am—
“Kilda the Bull,” I hear behind me.
I know who it is. I turn to face him and lower my head in salute.
“Lord Vidar, up before the sun.”
He laughs, placing his massive body in front of mine. So close I take a step back to look up at him. His deep voice shakes my pained ears as he speaks.
“I’m surprised you’re up already considering last night’s festivities.”
“Did you notice?” I ask, lowering my gaze again.
“Who didn’t? I think they heard you girls laughing over Dovre Mountain.”
“Forgive me, my lord, I had hoped—”
“Stop with this lord shit. It’s just us.”
I flash a smile. I figure it’s always safe to start formally and let my owners decide when I can be more personal. Both Sigurd and Vidar prefer me to call them by their names. At least when alone. That must be a good thing.
“Then forgive me, Vidar. I had hoped the walls of the house would contain the merriment.”
“The sound of joyful women has never hurt a man’s ears,” he says.
“Good to hear.”
“Hearing that skald however, by Odin—he squeals louder than a bride on her wedding night.”
I stifle a giggle, out of respect for Ari and his work the night before. Vidar’s comment is funnier because of Ari pretending to be a bride during his story. But surely Vidar doesn’t know this.
“Yes,” I say. “He needed his voice to carry over the girls.”
“So, you enjoyed the show?” says Vidar as he folds his arms. I remember Ari reacting to my comments about Vidar, in the tent. Vidar might feel a similar tint of jealousy. I don’t want to anger Vidar.
“We had a few good laughs, the—”
“What was it you called him again?”
Vidar looks into the air, as if drawing from memory, before snapping his fingers.
“That’s it, a mangy crow.”
He laughs at my nickname for Ari, and I laugh with him. Now, after everything, my obsession with ridiculing the skald seems juvenile. How angry have I been? Ari isn’t even mangy, nor is he a crow. He’s more like a raven. Still, I laugh with the son of the lord who owns me. Vidar goes on.
“I’m not sure what it is, but that man irks me. It’s like he’s hiding something. Trust me, that guy has a secret. A bad secret.”
A thrall woman a stone’s throw away waves with a broad grin on her face before bowing her head deep. I smile and nod back. Vidar turns and notices the woman paying me respect.
“I’m impressed,” he says. “The thralls view you highly.”
“They enjoyed the party. I was afraid they would dislike me, with the house and all.”
“Even they know that you weren’t born to be a thrall. I knew it the first second I saw you. That’s why I bought you.”
“You bought me because I wasn’t a slave?”
He laughs at his contradictory statement.
“You’re better than that. It’s easy to tell.”
“Oh? How so?”
“You’re fire. You burn hot.” He leans in. “I love that about you.”
Burn hot? I think Ari said the same on the way down the mountain.
“Even a child knows not to play with a flame,” I say with a sly smile.
“See?” he points at me. “That’s exactly what I mean. Other thrall girls, they just nod and obey. They just give in.”
“It’s that or the whip,” I state bluntly.
“You know what I mean. You could also have been whipped.”
“Yes, but—”
“If all thralls were as feisty as you, we would all be in trouble.”
He laughs at his own joke, as if feisty slaves is the craziest of ideas.
Vidar is an attractive man. I have played with the thought of enjoying some fun with him, but now, I find him slightly repulsive.
How lightly he speaks of girls being cowed and whipped.
He has clearly never considered what it’s like wearing a woman’s shoes.
Or her dress. I clear my throat as I pat down my blue robe.
“Many of the girls have both honor and wit. They are folk like us.”
I fail to hide the tone of defiance from my voice. I’m contradicting the future owner of the farm, the future lord. But then again, that’s what he claims he likes about me. What he respects.
“Perhaps they do,” he says. “But the world stands as it was built by Odin and his brothers. It isn’t always fair.”
“Odin has animals to aid him.”
“And Thor has thralls.”
I feel my temper flaring. Bubbles rise from the simmering depths to the surface.
Ylvin herself said it—slaves don’t exist, people in chains do.
With how Vidar has treated me, I assumed he was respectful to thralls, like his father.
I had no idea he viewed the world in this color. A privilege of his birth.
“Excuse me, I need to—”
“Okay, Kilda,” he interrupts, as he grabs my arm, keeping me in place. “I’m sorry for offending you. I was trying to give you a compliment.”
“I understand.”
“Where are you headed?”
“To see if the jarl is up yet.”
“Oh, he will be. He’s the first one to rise.”
“Then I will speak with him.”
“I’ll follow you to the longhouse,” says Vidar.
“You don’t have to, really,” I say, walking briskly toward the center of the farm.
“Don’t worry, I like to keep an eye on you.”
I walk fast, like I’m busy. Something about this conversation has made me uneasy. I want to keep studying the jarl’s objects, hopefully without Vidar present. We arrive at the door.
“I have business to attend to,” says the huge warrior. “But listen, if you ever need anything, come to me. I will help if I can.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do that. Remember, anything at all.”
He winks, making me force a smile before I enter the hall.