“Of course you haven’t. Would you ever say it to me? As my student?”
“No, you’re right. Please go on.”
“I interrupt you because you’re predictable. Always the good girl in public.”
“I have to.”
“I know you have to, at the farm, or with your carriages or whatever. But here, you’re with me. See?”
The cat yawns, releasing a little miao as it closes its mouth. Its eyes land on me, half-closed and slanted. A beautiful animal, even if a little gluttonous. Ylvin waves her arm in the air.
“When you pretend, with your mask on, I know what’s coming. I can guess it. Feel it. That’s the construct between us all speaking. Formality. You need to let the wolf within you howl at the moon. Express yourself.”
“How can I?—”
“That’s why I asked you about Narve and his hammering techniques. Not because I’m curious—though I am—but mainly to get you to break your predictable pattern of speech.”
“I see.”
“Yes, now you see. And I see you, you see? I’m not here to force you to be anything—not like me, or like Groa, or to be sexual or anything else. I’m here to water the seed that is Kilda, so you finally notice your roots.”
“My roots?”
“Oh my, oh my. You prove my point.”
“What do you?—”
She laughs and slaps her thigh. A cruel laugh, almost.
“If you know, you know, Kilda. Don’t you feel it at times? A tug. A pull. Your will?”
“I’m not sure I under?—”
“That’s why Volvas need methods. The magic isn’t always available, at least for most of us. We need to tend it like a garden. When you enjoyed yourself with Narve, did you feel it then?”
“It was purely physical.”
“There’s your problem in that equation. Seidr is about connection, not just body parts clumsily slurping at each other.”
What a sentence. That hurt my ears. Quite disturbing.
Ylvin flashes her sharp teeth in a grin.
“Look, I know I am vulgar. But guess what? You are too.”
How does she know?
“I practice Seidr with Elof, and myself, as well. Sex works for me. I prefer that form of connection over, say, sacrifice—especially of people.”
“Sacrificing folk is just sick.”
“I agree, but many Volvas do it. For power. Many jarls do it. For tradition. Especially in the north, but you know how they are.”
“I hear about it,” I confirm.
“Whatever you hear, it’s probably true. I’ve met some decent northerners—barbarians the lot of them. But answer me this, if you please.”
“Of course.”
