Chapter 70
My defiance melts away as I pass the guard and his sour expression. The hall is quiet when I enter. Empty.
Only Thyra stands next to her father’s throne, speaking to him in a hushed voice. She strokes his shoulder, showing a tenderness I have never seen from her before. Her face hardens when she sees me. My shoulders sink as I approach, waiting for some harrowing insult.
She walks toward me. My body tenses up. Ready for a verbal attack. But she passes me without a word, not even sparing me a glance. I notice her braid is disheveled, with strands shooting out at different angles. Dark pouches lie beneath her eyes.
Poor woman.
The jarl lifts his hand and gestures for me to stand next to him.
“Kilda,” he says, his voice rough.
“My jarl,” I say, falling to my knees in front of him.
A light chuckle escapes Sigurd’s lips.
“You still know to kneel for your jarl.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“That’s a good sign, at least…”
I stay on the ground, with my gaze locked on the jarl’s feet. I’m sweating. All jittery. He lets me stay there for a few seconds before speaking.
“Come stand here. I wish to speak.”
I hesitate, throwing him a quick glance.
“My lord, I—”
“Nervous?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whisper, stepping next to his throne.
“You should be. Not many slaves would be allowed to live after such a debacle.”
“Forgive me.”
“Njord’s death is hard to forgive,” he says, raising himself from his throne. “But he is with Odin now.”
I nod as he places himself in front of me.
“And you are here with me,” he concludes.
My heart sinks. Am I to be punished? Made to suffer?
“Yes, lord.”
“I have a task for you, Kilda the Volva.”
“Anything.”
He speaks low, so even a curious eavesdropper can’t hear us.
“Anything, yes. A little bird tells me the thrall girls are… boisterous… after the duel.”
I can’t hide a frown from my face. Aren’t the girls always boisterous? What does he mean? My feet shuffle beneath me.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Lord Sigurd.”
“They are rowdy. Louder than before. I was told they speak of journeys, marriage, land.”
I stifle a snort. It’s like free folk forget that slaves are human.
“Even slaves have hopes,” I say curtly.
He looks at me with a smile, like he senses my thoughts. I realize I didn’t refer to him by his title. Sigurd doesn’t seem to mind. He nods in agreement.
“Indeed, they do. You are the perfect example of that. Yet we have laws, here in the north. Have you forgotten?”
“No,” I reply—before catching myself. “My lord,” I add quickly.
Sigurd turns his back and walks off, and for the first time, I notice his age.
When I had first laid eyes on him, he was mighty.
In control. Now he is worried. Feeble, even.
Not a good look for a leader of warriors.
No one would have doubted his authority while he screamed at Vidar and Ari to stop fighting.
Such a change in so little time. Now, anyone could see an opportunity for his throne.
“I’m getting older, Kilda,” he says, like he’s reading my mind. “At my age, a man must plan for the inevitable. For his legacy.”
It dawns on me what he is speaking of. Why is he sharing these thoughts with me? Aren’t I the slave who got Njord killed with her schemes? He turns suddenly, his eyes searing into mine.
“Soon, the worms will eat me.”
“Surely you have a few years left, my lo—”
“My wife, dear Volva, my wife—she thought like you. She was like Thyra in disposition, but she had the same thoughts as you.”
I look down at the mention of his wife. Why is he so emotional?
“What… uh… thoughts, Jarl Sigurd?”
“Freedom, respect, honor, dignity. Everyone deserves dignity, she would say. Even slaves. And she meant it.”
“She… She sounds wise.”
He laughs, his voice reverberating across the empty hall. A hollow sound, filled with loss, not with joy.
“You would say that, wouldn’t you? You who thinks like her.”
I stay silent. I hadn’t realized I’d just called myself wise.
“I would not call myself wise,” I say. “Nor compare myself to your lady.”
“You may be defiant, disobedient, and shortsighted, my dear. But you are a Volva for a reason. You are touched.”
“Thank you.”
Last time I saw Sigurd, he was shouting in my face, covering me with spit. Now, he is giving me compliments. This hall rolls like the waves of the ocean, in and out like the tide. Even so, a spark of pride glows in my chest. My jarl still respects me. It’s not all over.
“I need your loyalty, Kilda. You need to prove to me where you stand.”
“With you, Jarl Sigurd.”
I say the words, because I enjoy breathing. But I’m not even sure if I mean it anymore. Sigurd has been good. He has been fair. Yet Njord harassing Eidunn meant nothing to him. Meant nothing to Vidar.
Then again, Njord never hurt Eidunn. I seem to forget that. I need to remember.
“Show me,” he insists.
“Anything you require.”
“Anything?” he says, raising a doubtful eyebrow as a smile grows on his face.
“I… I am…” I can’t control my grin. He knows what I want to say, so I say it. “Almost.”
We both laugh.
“My wife would have liked you.”
“I would have liked her,” I whisper as I bow my head.
“She would have taken you under her wing, made you even more rebellious than you are.”
“Please, my jarl, I am no rebel.”
Sigurd steps forward and holds my shoulders. Softly. I don’t fear his touch. It’s not about dominance, but a close moment. Like a father. I thought he would behead me. The impulse to stroke his cheek hits me, but I suppress it. I sense he needs comfort. He whispers to me.
“Prove it. I need to know I can trust you.”
“Tell me how.”
“The girls need reassurance. They need to be reminded that their lives are good.”
“They are thralls.”
He lets me go. The wrinkles on his face, deeper than I had ever noticed, cast shadows on his features.
“I had hoped you noticed they eat better than many free folk.”
I lower my gaze. He is right. As much as it hurts to admit it, Sigurd’s slaves are surely the best treated in the land.
“You were good to me when I arrived,” I whisper. “I am grateful you are my master.”
The words sit on my tongue like burning coals.
Sigurd is not my master. I am nobody’s slave.
Ylvin said that. But even before, I knew.
Still, I want to comfort this old man before me.
He may own me as a slave, but he has not forced me to do anything.
Quite the opposite. He has offered me everything. I raise my eyes to meet his.
“You gave me clothes, food, a house. Most of all, you gave me my training with Ylvin. I am grateful, Sigurd, my jarl. Give me your orders.”
“Rally the girls, Kilda. Show you belong.”