“Thyra is?—”
“She fuckinghatesyou.”
“She does, but?—”
“Why would she help you?”
“Not me, you. She?—”
“Why would she help me?”
“Thyra is a woman.”
Finally, Eidunn’s face shifts from anger to reflection. Like she sees the goal I am hoping for might just be within reach. Women know the price of a man’s foul temper. We’ve all bled for their pride. Thyra will understand, she must. Eidunn seems to be considering my offer. Time to hammer my point home.
“If we are to be slaves our whole lives, we can at least be treated with dignity. You deserve better.”
“You’re fucking mad.”
“You go to Ylvin. Best case, Thyra accepts and you are her or Sigurd’s slave. Worst case, you stay with Ylvin and travel with her until you find a place to stay or a husband.”
“Oh yeah, every man wants to marry a runaway slave.”
“We are not slaves.”
“They will come to kill me! Vidar will come and do even worse!”
“Ylvin will protect you. Trust me. That woman can smell a fox sneaking on the other side of the mountain.”
“Ridiculous…”
“I swear it. You saw what she taught me. I was invisible, remember?”
“How could I forget such witchcraft?”
“Well, Ylvin is a thousand times better at it than me. She can protect you.”
“So that’s it? I run for the hills? Like every other slave who has been hunted down and killed before me?”
“If Thyra doesn’t agree, I will join you.”
“With that filthy skald, no doubt.”
She smiles at me, wiping her cheeks of tears. I grin back.
“Probably.”
“By Thor’s fucking thunder,” she says as she stands, “I can’t believe I’m considering this. I must be crazy.”
A fragile spark ignites behind her eyes. Her breathing evens. She wipes her palms on her dress as she glances to the door with a fearful determination. I nod at her.
“Anything is better than this,” I whisper.
I gesture around the room. The thick air within it carries Vidar’s scent. No matter how plush and comfortable it is, it’s not worth the price Eidunn is paying. She grabs a knapsack, filling it with food, a dress and a water gourd.
“This is crazy,” she mutters with an unusually high pitch.
“It is,” I confirm.
