Chapter 74
Idon’t remember how I got home.
One second Ragnhild is shouting how I will burn, how all I love will die. The next I am stumbling through my own doorway. My lungs are on fire. I sit and fill a cup with water. My throat is dry as sand.
It has come to this. I can’t keep my eyes away from the door. Only a thin piece of wood separates me from the wrath of the valley. They could come crashing through, stabbing me with their iron.
My legs barely feel attached. The house smells of herbs—nettle and yarrow. Safety. But it’s all a fucking lie. An illusion. It’s all over.
Blood dries on my chest. On my chin. I scratch at it, but only small flakes come loose. My life has fallen apart. My life is not my own. Not anymore.
Shaking. No way to control it. It’s so cold. The air bites like winter has come early. What now? What do I do?
Thyra is dead.
Her eyes. That smile. Her words. Ragnhild’s hands covered in her mother’s blood.
Cursed. Ragnhild’s speech lingers over me. But I was cursed from before.
I swallow bile. I need to vomit. But I have nothing in my stomach. Sour air escapes my throat.
A knock at the door. My heart explodes in my chest. What are my options? Push past them? Run for the forest? Swing a knife to keep them at bay?
Futile. There were witnesses. It wasn’t me. The law will protect me.
Protect me like all the other Volvas? Those murdered without trial?
Another knock.
“Open, Kilda, it’s me.”
Freya’s blessings. Relief washes over me so violently I almost collapse to the floor, gripping the edge of the table. My fingers are numb. I know that voice. Exactly who I need. I run to the door. Ripping it open.
Ari looks down at me. His eyes warm as I know them. He sees the state I am in, his face twisting with worry.
“By Odin, Kilda.”
He leads me back in. I’m still in a daze, my body still reeling from the attack.
“I look like shit,” I state, worried he will dislike me.
“Never mind that. Take off your robe.”
What the fuck? This isn’t the time for… Then I remember. I look down at myself. My robe is ripped. One of my breasts hangs out in the open. A blood-covered nipple hardened by the cold air.
“Why did you come?” I ask.
“Sifrid fetched me.”
Bless her. Sifrid be blessed.
“I… I just…”
“Take it off. Put on your pants and shirt.”
I obey. The robe falls to my feet. He helps me, taking my robe and dipping it in the bucket of water. He rubs it over my chest. The hairs on my body are finally released from their crimson cage. Ari’s touch is soft, careful.
“What happened?” he asks.
“Thyra is… Thyra is dead.”
“Dead?”
He stops and looks at me, wide-eyed. I nod.
“Dead.”
“How?”
He continues tending to my naked body. The cold air creates prickles on my skin. But I am so numb, I don’t even care.
“She attacked me. She was in a trance. It was, it was like magic. A curse.” My hands move of their own accord, miming the chaos. “She charged at me with a knife, in front of everyone. She stumbled and fell on her own blade.”
“Folk saw it happen?”
“Yes.”
“They saw her fall on her own blade?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He releases a long breath, wiping my skin with linen. “What do you mean she was cursed?”
“The bones, they had runes. Like the hammer. Thurisaz. That fucking triple rune. It must have been her from the start… I just…”
I realize I’m babbling. Not making sense. But Ari nods and holds me tight.
“I see.”
“She jumped at me. Screaming. She—”
“Find your pants and a shirt.”
I don’t argue. I just listen. It feels good to have Ari guide me.
Nothing makes sense. I find my clothes and dress myself.
Poor Ragnhild. First her father, now her mother.
Her life is changed forever. She hates me.
My breathing picks up in pace. Tears pour from my eyes.
I cover my face in my hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Ari lays an arm around my shoulder.
“Sit, my love,” he whispers.
“I tried to help her,” I mutter. “I swear. She was rocking back and forth. Her eyes. They weren’t hers.”
I look at him, to see what he thinks. If he thinks I’m crazy. Thinks I’m a murderer. But he isn’t smiling. He is listening. Fixing my hair as I speak. I go on.
“It was a witch. Inside her. I know it. She called me a slut. Like the vision. I know it was her. Thyra would never… She couldn’t. Do you… Do you think I’m crazy?”
“I believe you,” he says softly.
Such an absurd thing to hear. He believes me. My story. Most men would laugh, call me a madwoman and vote for my execution. Not Ari. I dry tears from my cheeks.
“And Ragnhild. She saw it all. She hates me. Blames me. She cursed me.”
I can hear Ari’s breathing grow heavy.
“Tragic,” he says simply.
“She is such a good girl,” I wail, letting tears flow.
“She is.”
I turn to him, our eyes meet.
“Will they kill me, Ari? Will they drown or hang me? Burn me?”
He thinks for a second before turning my face away and continuing to tend to my hair. His loving touch sends waves of heat through my shivering body. He breathes out a long stream of air, feeling the tension like I am.
“If there were witnesses, the law will protect you,” he says.
“You think?”
“It has to. We’re not animals.”
“But they will want me dead.”
“No doubt.”
“They will twist the law… they will—”
A harsh knock at the door makes my heart leap into my chest. Instantly sweat breaks out all over my skin. Ari isn’t startled. No reaction. I only see his hand move slowly to the gladius at his belt. He’s ready to protect me. To die for me.
Again, a violent knock. Much harder this time. The door is shaking. The walls. The entire house. I turn to Ari, panicked. He just holds a finger to his mouth and then places his hand on my shoulder to calm me.
A voice comes through the door. A voice I know all too well. He doesn’t shout. It’s just loud enough to penetrate the wood.
“I know you’re in there, witch,” says Vidar.
I tense up. He will want revenge. He will want to be repaid in blood. Ari shakes his head and holds a finger to his lips again. I am to stay quiet. Vidar scrapes something against the door.
“My blade thirsts for you, you bitch. My father is weak. He wants proof of your crime. But not me.”
I choke a sob. Ari pulls me to his chest as Vidar continues.
“When the law calls for your execution, I will be there. I will personally request to be the one to end your life. Slowly.”
He laughs. Evil, wicked. The man who charmed me now wants to gut me.
“I know what you did,” he says. “I care not for the law. I will see you squirm, you filthy witch, you and that ergi skald of yours.”
Ari tenses at the insult. But he controls himself. Vidar’s threat lingers in the air as silence takes hold. No sound from outside. He has left. Sigurd wants a trial. He wants the law to prevail.
“Do I have a chance?” I whisper to Ari.
“The law would protect you. But Vidar was clear. He cares not for the law.”
My stomach drops. I’m a fucking dead woman. A slow death. I don’t want to squirm at the hands of Vidar. I want to live. I want to breathe.
“I’m dead,” I whisper as I sob into Ari’s leather.
“No chance. I’ll cut him open.”
I raise myself and look at him.
“Do you mean it?”
“You are mine, Kilda, not Vidar’s. Not Sigurd’s.”
My breath stalls. Mine? What the fuck does that even mean?
“I’m yours? But—”
“You are not a slave. You are mine. No one touches you.”
He claims me without chains. A part of me wants to lean into his words, like I’m leaning into him now. But it’s madness. He’s a fucking skald. A charming Jotnar skald. If he doesn’t eat me, he will leave me. Besides, will he want the life of a fugitive? Being an outlaw, just for me?
“But Vidar—”
“Vidar will regret his empty threats. On my honor.”
Tears escape my eyes. If fate wants to bind me, it picked the worst fucking moment. This is what it has come to. I don’t know if I can trust him. But by the gods, I want to.
“What do we do?” I ask.
“We must flee. Or prepare to fight all of Vidar’s men. They will come, but only after Sigurd’s ruling.”
“Why don’t they come now?”
“Vidar wants to stay lawful, if possible. For his reputation as future jarl. But in the dark of night, the law often gets buried.”
“I am doomed,” I sob.
“You are not.”
“How do you know?”
I slap a hand on his chest. How can he say such words? Empty promises. I repeat my question.
“How do you know?”
He raises my face with a finger to my chin. The depth of his ocean-colored eyes contrasts to the red fire burning within them.
“You are mine.”