Chapter 60
Misery.
The hearth is cold. I have not lit a fire for fear of its light exposing my most selfish and misguided choices. A man is dead. Eidunn’s fury, her crippling sorrow, Sigurd’s burning rage, Vidar’s comforting assurance—they are a murder of crows in my head. Ever circling, refusing to scatter.
How could it come to this? Everything was perfect. I had it all. A house, status, food. Strong men were interested. I had the cornerstone laid for building my own life. Perhaps regaining my freedom. Freedom for my future children.
Vidar makes promises, but being his dog comes with a leash. Maybe it’s best to accept the obvious advances layered under his words. He is strong. He is the jarl’s son. Being on his good side would have its benefits. Eating scraps off his table isn’t glorious, but I would be safe. Safe from harm.
I shiver as a cold wind buffets the house, finding its way through cracks to worm around me. Wrapping a sheepskin around my shoulders, I finger its locks as its pungent smell envelops me. I don’t know how long I have been sitting here. Long enough for the sun to settle—for the farm to go quiet.
But Ari. Poor Ari. An innocent fool who rose to the occasion. An innocent fool killing an innocent man. What have I done?
He will hate me. They all hate me. But Ari, he will hate my guts.
His Jotnar blood will boil. Odin knows how he will repay my manipulations.
The one-eyed god is probably laughing right now, having fooled me to add another warrior to his hall.
But have mercy, Freya our lady, bear witness to my intention.
None of it was for my own gain. Eidunn was the victim to be saved. She still is.
What was she thinking? Blaming an innocent man for her woes? Now Njord is dead, and the culprit lives. I’ve made it worse, she said. Things were better before I came… Who is plaguing her?
She refuses to share. But what would I do anyway? Tell Ari that another man abuses Eidunn? Convince him to bleed for a woman he barely knows, again? Time for another duel, Ari, sharpen your gladius.
What a fucking joke.
I collapse on my bed. This bed, this house—I am fortunate that Sigurd has allowed me to keep it.
It may be taken from me yet. Everything was perfect, yet I have nothing.
I live only by the mercy of my owners. Perhaps I should flee.
Be an outlaw. Murder for my meal. I have already gotten one man killed.
What difference would another make? Then another and another.
Ylvin said that there are no slaves, only people in chains. But that’s easy to say when you are free. When you have a loving husband who would die for you, who warms your bed—not claims legal ownership over your heart and mind.
A sob catches in my throat as I realize what I am most afraid of losing. The one part of my life that makes me feel human, like myself. Like Kilda. Kilda the Wild. The only one who doesn’t view me as property.
The skald. The mangy crow bastard has turned out to be my only ally.
He doesn’t even know of my betrayal. He will hate me.
I have to tell him, but I fear what comes after.
I fear being alone. I fear being owned by these warrior men with an eye only for what they can sell or buy. Ari, sweet Ari, protector of the weak.
He will judge me. I picture his face twisted in disgust. The words he might say. He will turn his back.
How has it come to this? Is this the cost of defying fate? Of defying the order of this world? If so, I am doomed. They will all hate me. Ari will turn his back. His blue eyes will never meet mine again. Misery.
Freya have mercy. Let me carry hope in my heart. Let the sun rise again tomorrow. Our shining giver, I beg you, show pity on your servant.