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“Blood, breast, or womb…”
“That doesn’t make any sense!” Ayda snapped, growing increasingly frustrated. The cold winter magic had crept up from her fingers. Now, her arms were cold as if she’d stuck them in buckets of ice.
“Succeed where I failed.” The woman whispered it so quietly that Ayda wasn’t sure if she imagined it. Then, as soon as it’d started, the storm vanished. Bright sunlight returned to the valley, making Ásví, Hùisdean, and Ayda blink their eyes rapidly to adjust. By the time Ayda focused her attention on the painting, it had returned to normal.
Not a word was spoken between the three witnesses for nearly a full minute. Ayda thought she was going to faint. Hùisdean didn’t let go of her, and she didn’t pull away from his grasp. Finally, Ásví straightened her back and untangled her necklaces from one another.
“Well,” her lips pulled into a thin line, “you’re going to be a bit more interesting than I thought, Ayda.” Ásví turned towards the kitchen and started walking away. “You should eat something to calm your nerves before we try to determine what she meant.”
Ayda nodded dumbly, unable to pull her eyes from the painting. Hùisdean pinched the bridge of his nose as if these were annoying things that always happened.
“Aunty, who is this a portrait of?” Hùisdean called out after Ásví, slowly rubbing Ayda’s arms to comfort her.
“Oh,” Ásví hummed from the kitchen, “that’s Margaret, Maid of Norway.”
Ayda spun around so quickly, she nearly tripped on her feet, her eyes going wide with shock as she looked to Hùisdean for confirmation. He nodded once slowly, looking equally as surprised as her.
“Fuck.” Hùisdean exhaled heavily, looking at the painting and then back at Ayda. “Do you still think that I made a mistake in coming to find you for help?”
Chapter Fifteen
She doesn’t appreciate her gifts.
Ayda was critical of her power, which Hùisdean assumed had something to do with working in her mother's shadow, but Ayda was genuinely talented. Judging by the look on her face as they followed Ásví into the kitchen, Ayda was teetering on the edge of shock. It wasn't unheard of for paintings to come alive in a magical household, but Hùisdean had only seen it happen once. It was rare.
It was even rarer for powerful dead monarchs to come alive and speak through said paintings. And it was rarer still for those monarchs to talk directly to someone and insinuate they were the key to breaking the curse on the Shetland Islands.
Hùisdean pulled out a chair for Ayda in front of the hearth, gently guiding her into it. Ásví poured three cups of tea and handed them out while they settled before the fire. Ásví's kitchen, like most wizard's kitchens, was cluttered, chaotic, and bursting at the seams with pots, dishes, and plants. It gave the entire room a cozy, lived-in feeling, and Hùisdean hoped it would ease some of Ayda's anxiety. He could practically see it pouring off her face, and he desperately hoped she wouldn't turn around and run out the front door.
Ásví sat in an oversized oak chair, sitting cross-legged while leaning forward to face Ayda.
“You,” she pointed at Ayda with her mug, “earth mage. You better start talking.”
“Ásví, please—” Hùisdean interjected. He didn’t like the way his aunt was putting Ayda on trial. Ayda, however, furrowed her brow and met Ásví's harsh stare.
“I don't answer to you,” she snapped. “I'm the one who has to figure out the answer to your problem. Don't take it out on me that the painting in your house didn't want to speak to you.”
Ayda straightened her back, and her body tensed. Hùisdean held his breath, simultaneously impressed by Ayda and now terrified of his aunt.
Ásví said nothing, staring down at Ayda with a harsh look that had haunted Hùisdean’s childhood nightmares. Ásví had been in charge of his and Wyn’s magical training, and she made sure not to take it easy on them. Ayda sat without moving, although her fingers were shaking in her lap. Without thinking, Hùisdean reached over and grabbed her hand in a sign of support. If Ásví were going to threaten Ayda, she'd be threatening them both.
Ásví's eyes widened at Hùisdean's display of loyalty, but she said nothing for another few long minutes. Finally, she nodded. For the second time that day, Ayda had passed some unseen test.
“Understood,” Ásví said curtly. She sipped her tea, her expression now irritatingly neutral. “Do you know why Margaret the Maid would want to speak to you?”
Ayda shook her head slowly. “I don't know. I recognize that magic. It's the same one I felt when the draugr attacked the palace.”
Ásví perked up at this. “The winter magic? You haven't trained in it before?” She balanced her elbows on her knees and leaned forward.
“No.” Ayda shook her head. “That was one of the reasons we came to talk to you. I only grew up with earthen magic. The fact that I manifested winter magic and commanded the draugr is new to me.”
“Oh, my.” Ásví turned to Hùisdean. “You have picked an interesting one, haven't you? Although I suppose the gods are the ones who choose.” Ásví waved her hand as if she was mulling through different explanations.
Ayda's eyes widened, and she turned towards Hùisdean. “What does she mean by that?”
“Nothing.” Hùisdean shook his head quickly. He didn't know how Ásví was picking up on his feelings for Ayda, but now was not the time to divulge those.
“Does Ayda have Norse magic too?” Hùisdean pressed. “Is that what it is? We assumed as much, but we weren't sure.”
