Chapter 76
The hall looms over me like a sleeping Fenrir. A starving belly. Empty. Silent. The dying embers barely give light, leaving the room in murky darkness.
Perfect.
I slip inside, pressing my back against the wall. I control my breath. Any slip-up will mean death. If the gods know of my presence, let them hold their tongue. The shadows swallow me, and I swallow my fear. I belong in the night. The night belongs to me. Let it stay true.
It may be crazy, but this feels right. Like I’m where I’m supposed to be. Perhaps the Norns are guiding me, or perhaps they are laughing at my coming doom.
A creak.
I freeze.
A guard steps through the door on the other side. I don’t know his name. He can’t hold his spear straight as he mumbles to himself. Probably downed a few ales to mourn Thyra’s passing.
His boots scrape against the floorboards as he shuffles deeper in, scanning the room with a bored expression. His gaze passes by me. No reaction.
My heart pounds like a hammer on its forge. He looked right through me.
“Oi! You coming or not? We’re throwing.”
A voice outside. Laughter. Guards throwing dice and gambling while on duty. Not honorable, but just what I need. Men neglecting their duty, no surprise there. Maybe they are mourning Thyra. This is what happens when Sigurd lets everything hang loose.
The guard turns back toward the door.
“Fuck off, I’m coming.”
He leaves the door open and returns to his friends.
I finally release my breath. My vision was beginning to blur. I still have a distance to Sigurd’s chamber.
Time to move.
I push off the wall, creeping along its length. My eyes stay on the door, just in case the drunkard comes back. He’s too busy losing his wife’s savings.
The long shadows claw at me, hands reaching out. It’s where I want to be.
I arrive at the door. It isn’t locked. Such a trusting jarl. He should know better. I ease it open. Just enough to sneak through. It doesn’t even make a sound. Oiled and well-kept by one of the dutiful thralls.
Sigurd lies on the bed. He seems to be sleeping, slumped on his side and muttering unknown words. I must tread lightly, for Sigurd will wake easily. Not surprising considering his daughter’s early demise.
I hesitate for a second. Should I turn now? Going beyond this point is inexcusable. No explanation will be good enough. I could just return to Ari.
Fuck that. I won’t give him the pleasure. I’ll show him what I can do. Smug bastard. He will see.
I scan the room. Bare as it was last time. Like some slave quarters.
Such luck! The treasury door is ajar. Unlocked. I recall that it wasn’t locked when Sigurd asked me to inspect his items either. Sigurd truly feels safe in his own hall. If only he knew his guards were gambling instead of guarding.
I enter the jarl’s private space, keeping to the wall on the opposite side of the bed. Gritting my teeth, I glide where the shadows hang thickest. My shirt clings to my chest, drenched in sweat.
My heart skips a beat as the jarl mumbles.
“Thy… thyr…”
That, I recognize. His grief stabs me in the chest. His only daughter. Dead in the middle of the farm. A bloody mess. Poor Ragnhild… Her curse is seared in my mind. It’s wrapped around me like a blackened cloak. Her eyes haunt me.
Stay sharp. Focus. I control my breathing again. No time to get emotional.
I don’t even need to touch the door. I just slip inside.
A chilled vibration fills the room. Moonlight enters from a single wind-eye. There’s a table and a chest. I don’t need to search. My bounty lies before me.
Ari didn’t need to describe the ring. I knew which one it was as soon as he said it. Sigurd had mentioned that a southern queen had given it to him. No guessing needed. The ring lies next to the hammer. I pick it up.
No reaction. It’s just a fucking ring. The hammer, however… I can feel its hunger from here. But the ring? Just a silver band with a blue gem encased within it. It’s colder than I thought, but that’s about it. Where is the lightning? Raging thunder? Anything but this.
So small. So harmless.
Fucking ridiculous. Why would the Queen possibly need this back? Isn’t she rich? Isn’t she powerful? Doesn’t she have it all? Including my Ari?
Fucking bitch. I stuff the ring in my leather satchel.
A whisper enters my brain. My heart explodes in my chest.
You will rule.
What the fuck? My blood runs cold. Shivers run down my neck. Who is watching?
You will rule.
It’s soft. Not aggressive. It’s not like the witch doing her ritual through the hammer. It’s not a curse. It’s an invitation. A promise.
Either I’m mad, or…
You will rule.
My eyes are drawn to the table. The words seep into my bones. I will rule.
The necklace. The gorgeous golden necklace. Of course.
I don’t dare to touch it. But the massive red jewels are so beautiful. Alluring.
The ferocious lynx holding the focal ruby stares at me with its golden eyes. Daring me to grab it. What am I? Some fucking slave? Or am I the thieving Volva? Chosen of Freya. Touched by the Norns.
It glows. Or perhaps not. But it glows.
Heat radiates from it. Rich. Sensual. Everlasting.
Ancient energies flourish, stroking against me like a cat with its tail raised.
Purring.
It’s so gorgeous. Sigurd doesn’t even enjoy it. He wouldn’t know how to.
This is a necklace made for a goddess. For a woman of power.
For me.
My hand reaches out. It’s just perfect. Without thinking, I stroke a finger against the lynx head. Regal. Proud. Like Freya. Ready for love as well as war.
She would want this for me. I want it.
Heat stretches into my arm, like the roots of a tree seeking nourishment in the soil. Like it was made for me. It belongs on my neck. Not in Sigurd’s dusty chambers.
The ring is my mission. But this is my prize.
I know I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t steal at all.
But I don’t give a fuck.
I grab it and place it in my pouch. Sorry, old man, this doesn’t belong to you.
I exit the treasury, clutching the bone fragment. Sigurd has moved to his other side. I follow the same route, careful to—
A floorboard moans under my weight.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Sigurd jerks upright on his elbows. I grip the bone so hard it bites into my palm. A light vibration enters my body.
His bloodshot eyes stare into the dim room, scanning the shadows.
“Who’s there?” he whispers.
I don’t move. He scratches his head. His eyes go right through me. Like the guards, but I’m so close—Sigurd should see me.
It has to be the bone. My enchantment fucking works.
Before I can celebrate my victory, my vision falters.
Flashing lights. Wooziness. My knees wobble. Everything tilts. I’m going to pass out. The walls ripple like heat over a forge.
No, no, no. Please. I panic. I need to wake up.
I bite my thumb to stay in reality. Hoping a shock of pain will keep me present.
Blood lands on my tongue, mine. Metallic. Like licking an iron pot.
My vision clears. My body is rejuvenated. Strengthened.
The room flickers. Bending in waves. No straight lines.
But I feel alive. So sharp.
Sigurd’s gaze passes by me again. He’s frowning, confused. He rubs his face.
His grief weighs heavy in the air.
“Thyra?” he whispers.
But it’s not her. Not her spirit. It’s just me. Kilda the thief.
Kilda the Wild.
He sighs and collapses back onto the bed. Covering his eyes.
“Thyra,” he whispers. “Sweet Thyra.”
He’s lost so much. So much. I am stung by guilt or pity. I’m not sure which. But I discard it. Now, he’s losing a ring and a necklace. A skald. A slave. A part of me feels bad for him. But he thinks he can fucking own me. Own me? Look how it went.
I slip out the door. Through the hall. Into the cold night.
Fresh air fills my lungs. Reborn. I fucking did it. I got what I came for.
This will show Ari. Now he will know what I am. Who I am.
I am not some stupid thrall. I am not a toy to be discarded.
I will not fail.
Let fate bend or break to my will.
It is decided.
A whisper enters my mind—not from my ear.
You will rule.