On one side of the room, a dozen colorful shields hang, framing a massive ornamental hammer covered in runes. Runes like the ones on Groa’s staff.
On the other wall, a tapestry blazes with bright blues, reds, and greens, woven together to form an image I recognize.
“Yggdrasil,” I whisper.
The warmth of the room dries my tongue as I gape.
Swords, axes, and bows hang symmetrically behind a wooden throne carved with dragons. An older man sits there, beard and hair still showing a hint of blonde through the gray.
“Hail and joy, my jarl,” says Vidar, bowing deeply. Glancing at Vidar, I bow in silence. I was so struck by the glittering hall that I hadn’t noticed the people in the room.
“Well met, honorable Vidar,” says the jarl. “All is safe?”
A powerfully built woman stands next to his throne, arms crossed, amused smile on her face as her eyes bore into me. Her layered dress, brightly colored, could buy a farm. The silver brooches alone could feed my people for weeks. She must be close to the chieftain. Daughter or wife, all depending.
My feet scrape the floor as I lower my gaze from hers.
“Yes, the next patrol has already been sent out.”
“Very good,” says the jarl.
“I bring you a gift, my jarl,” says Vidar as he tugs on my chain to make me step forward.
My pride tells me to yank it back, but my survival instinct says otherwise. Vidar hadn’t warned me that I would be given away. A slab of meat.
The woman’s eyebrows lift as a smile climbs to the cliffs of her cheekbones. Her large stature and firm facial features exude strength, echoing Vidar.
As strange as it feels, at the lowest point in my life, passed from man to man, I only care what this woman thinks of me. She is a shining Aesir. A Valkyrie among humans.
“A gift?” says the jarl. I catch myself staring at the woman. “Of flesh and blood and bone?”
“A fine addition to your house, Father.”
I glance sideways at Vidar. Father? I’d known Vidar was of noble stock—his mannerisms, proud stance, the respect other men showed him. It’s obvious.
Only the rich can feed children enough to grow so large. But a jarl’s son? I had not expected that.
“Where did you find her?” asks the jarl.
“Bought from Asbjorn of Tingvoll.”
“Asbjorn? How does he fare?” The jarl’s face lights up. He clearly knows Asbjorn. Perhaps they had won battles together, or traded wares.
“He is very busy, my lord,” says Vidar with a smirk. “Busy laying seed in his wife’s soil.”
No lie there. I have seen it myself. How could I forget? Asbjorn is indeed a very busy man. Even after everything, I hope she gets her wish.
The jarl laughs and the woman next to him rolls her eyes. A fine lady like her is surely used to men behaving well around her, showing respect for her family and sensibilities. I had beenshocked at how Asbjorn’s and Vidar’s men joked about me. They had not cared about my family’s status.
As women, we see glimpses of men’s crudeness, but traveling with warriors has opened my eyes. They can be animals.
“He can’t be that busy, trading this young girl,” says the jarl.
“He captured her himself.”
“Really? On what grounds?”
“She stole Asbjorn’s seax.”
