A look of surprise crosses the jarl’s face. I’m getting used to people’s reactions now. I must be the only fool who hadn’t known about the importance of a man’s seax. You’d think it was a replacement for their…
“Stealing a man’s seax,” says the jarl, “a very bad idea.”
The urge to laugh bubbles. A light snort escapes my nose. Foolish girl.
“What? The girl in chains laughs at her crimes?” says the jarl. “What is amusing to you?”
I look to the floor, remembering Vidar’s orders, but he pushes me with his elbow.
“The jarl asks you a question, girl,” he says.
“I just… It’s just… Groa said the same words,” I stutter. “Very bad idea, she said.”
“Your Groa is wise,” says the jarl.
“She’s a wise-woman,” I reply. Both Vidar and the woman tense up. I have spoken out of line, replying to the jarl unbidden. But he doesn’t seem to mind, raising himself in his throne and looking straight at me.
“Is it Groa Veifinna?”
By the gods, he knows my Groa? A faint hope—escaping a life of servitude. I don’t belong in chains, no person does. My people have no slaves. Not that we can afford them, but if we could, I doubt we would own any. Groa wouldn’t allow it, nor would our chief. My heart drops, crushing the seed of hope. There isno ‘we.’ I am no longer welcome by my own folk. I am nothing. Nothing in chains.
I breathe deep, catching myself.No tears.
“It is. She still finds the way,” I respond. “Uh, my jarl,” I tack on, trying to make a good impression.
“I have heard of her,” says the jarl, pointing at me, “long ago. Before you were born. Neither were the two of you,” he continues, throwing a glance at Vidar and the woman. She must be the jarl’s daughter, Vidar’s sister. The resemblance is quite striking now that I know.
They laugh briefly. I remember Groa telling me how hard it is for children to imagine their parents living lives before their existence.
“Like me, she still breathes,” concludes the jarl.
“And kicks,” I add. Vidar tugs my chain to correct me. I resist instinctively, even if the metal scrapes against my skin.
“Silence, slave,” he growls, yanking my chain to pull me on the floor. On my knees, the room grows. Everyone stands above me. Vidar’s sister grins. Tears press behind my eyes. My body screams to attack Vidar, rip his eyes out. Humiliating me like this, for a simple joke?
“Let her stand, boy,” says the jarl, his brow furrowed.
“But—” starts Vidar.
“I didn’t ask.”
“Yes, Father.”
What a victory. That must hurt Vidar more than if I ripped his eyes out. Called a boy in his father’s hall. Hiding my smugness, I raise myself from the floor. I don’t want Vidar to hate me, nor his sister. I need them to trust me. Best to keep allies if I hope to be released. Or escape.
“Thank you, lord,” I say demurely, bowing my head. “Forgive me, Vidar.”
Vidar makes a better ally than enemy. I’m quite sure he likes me, even after that display. He’s a brute, but also influential, powerful. I need to keep him close.
The jarl sighs.
“What is your name, girl?”
“I am Kilda.”
“Well, Kilda, can you do anything useful? Other than stealing from others?”
“She might make a decent offering to the gods,” says Thyra. “If they would even accept her.”
