My legs barely feel attached. The house smells of herbs—nettle and yarrow. Safety. But it’s all a fucking lie. An illusion. It’s all over.
Blood dries on my chest. On my chin. I scratch at it, but only small flakes come loose. My life has fallen apart. My life is not my own. Not anymore.
Shaking. No way to control it. It’s so cold. The air bites like winter has come early. What now? What do I do?
Thyra is dead.
Her eyes. That smile. Her words. Ragnhild’s hands covered in her mother’s blood.
Cursed. Ragnhild’s speech lingers over me. But I was cursed from before.
I swallow bile. I need to vomit. But I have nothing in my stomach. Sour air escapes my throat.
A knock at the door. My heart explodes in my chest. What are my options? Push past them? Run for the forest? Swing a knife to keep them at bay?
Futile. There were witnesses. It wasn’t me. The law will protect me.
Protect me like all the other Volvas? Those murdered without trial?
Another knock.
“Open, Kilda, it’s me.”
Freya’s blessings. Relief washes over me so violently I almost collapse to the floor, gripping the edge of the table. My fingers are numb. I know that voice. Exactly who I need. I run to the door. Ripping it open.
Ari looks down at me. His eyes warm as I know them. He sees the state I am in, his face twisting with worry.
“By Odin, Kilda.”
He leads me back in. I’m still in a daze, my body still reeling from the attack.
“I look like shit,” I state, worried he will dislike me.
“Never mind that. Take off your robe.”
What the fuck? This isn’t the time for… Then I remember. I look down at myself. My robe is ripped. One of my breasts hangs out in the open. A blood-covered nipple hardened by the cold air.
“Why did you come?” I ask.
“Sifrid fetched me.”
Bless her. Sifrid be blessed.
“I… I just…”
“Take it off. Put on your pants and shirt.”
I obey. The robe falls to my feet. He helps me, taking my robe and dipping it in the bucket of water. He rubs it over my chest. The hairs on my body are finally released from their crimson cage. Ari’s touch is soft, careful.
“What happened?” he asks.
“Thyra is… Thyra is dead.”
“Dead?”
He stops and looks at me, wide-eyed. I nod.
“Dead.”
