But I can’t. It’s a whole different story. He might have me killed. Hanged or drowned—sacrificed to the gods. The foul-tempered goat shakes its hide. I grab its horns rougher than intended. It stays surprisingly calm.
If I am honest, I want to know more about his Jotnar blood. The magic that courses through his veins. My instinct tells me to forgive his deception, like I hope he will forgive mine, if it ever comes out. Even if I wanted to, I can’t be seen talking to him. Everyone already thinks I have whored myself to make him murder a man.
“Just go,” I shout, fighting back tears.
His footsteps grow fainter, until he is gone. My chest is hollow, a dead tree standing alone in the forest. I didn’t even turn to him. I didn’t even look him in his eyes. How could I?
I am lying to him. Lying to everybody. If they knew, my life would be over. Sigurd has spared me. His reasons are his own. My head is his to take.
I toss Sifrid a quick glance. She hums some children’s tune, pretending like nothing has happened.
Bless her. For if she knew the truth, she would spit on my grave.
CHAPTER 59
My moment with Sifrid and Fulla has passed. Now I am alone with my thoughts. Never have I felt so empty. Never have I been so ashamed.
Taking quick steps to my house, my head is consumed by a battle between dread and relief. Sigurd could have taken my house, my privileges. He could have ended my life. I must have some use to him. Something must have convinced him that I can do better. That I can be of value.
Shadows loom beyond the tree line, unknown forces pulling on the strings that direct my life. Freya weeps at my station, or she spits on my deeds. Loki laughs at his work, his intentions complete. I fall in a bottomless pit.
If I could sleep tonight, tomorrow might be?—
“Kilda,” I hear a deep voice behind me.
My stomach drops. I consider getting on my knees to ask forgiveness.
“My lord,” I say as I turn, my eyes on Vidar’s feet.
He stands for a second in silence, punishing me with the tension between us. My thoughts do the rest. I speak in a whisper, to avoid breaking into tears.
“Forgive me, my lord.”
He sighs, putting a light hand on my shoulder.
“I forgive you,” he says. “I overheard my father reprimanding you.”
I look at his face to make sure he is sincere, that he isn’t laying a trap. His eyes are wide with concern. I was expecting anger.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Just call me Vidar. I told you.” He releases a low, short laugh.
I sniffle once, then twice to stabilize myself. Blowing out a long stream of air completes the task. Vidar continues.
“Njord was a great man. He died with honor. He went into the Holmgang knowing how it could go.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Just listen,” he says. “I have thought about what you did. It’s honorable to protect your friend—even if your actions are based on a lie.”
A lie? The word hurts. But it’s true. Eidunn said it herself. It wasn’t Njord. But it was someone. A monster lurking in the shadows.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You should learn from this. Remember your status. You are a slave, but if you behave well, you could be freed.”
His face displays pity, as if he understands the weight in my heart. The crushing pressure that hasn’t let go since Eidunn attacked me. How is he not angrier for his friend losing his life?
