The skald looks away, avoiding my eyes. What is he hiding? Why does he build that wall around himself? He hides behind words of mystery. I take his hand in both of mine, instantly regretting it. It’s the hand I cut last night. But when I look down…
“What… but… Where is your wound?”
“You didn’t cut deep,” he says as he pulls back his hand.
“I’m so sorry, Ari, I?—”
“You didn’t cut deep,” he says again, but with a sharper tone.
The blade sliced him open. I’m sure. Wasn’t there blood at the river? But come to think of it, he had no wound when he dried me off. Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe I was confused by the rush of the chase.
“I don’t think you would kill my flame,” I whisper.
“We are born as we are. I was born with ice in my veins.”
Must be some man-thing. Icy veins, the frost… surely metaphors for his feelings. I don’t understand, but I want to help. I grab his arm, trying to comfort a man who apparently has more layers than I’d thought. Earlier he was a charming, mangy crow. A player in the game of cheap love. A seducer of women.
“You heated me yesterday,” I whisper.
He gives a hollow smile, pulling back his arm.
“Wrong, Kilda,” he says as he walks away from me. “You heated me.”
CHAPTER 38
Ihave been summoned. Ari stands next to me, broad-shouldered, hands clasped behind his back. His spread legs display dominance. My blue robe sits tight—several brooches and pins were necessary to shorten it. Ylvin is considerably taller. I keep my posture firm and straight-backed, yet with a submissive and friendly face. The last thing I want is to seem cocky and threatening. Not with what I am about to ask.
“You return,” says Sigurd, motioning toward us.
Vidar and Thyra stand beside their father’s throne. Thyra is stone-faced, probably hoping I would return shattered or defeated. Dead, perhaps, a corpse. She almost got her wish.
Vidar’s expressions alternate—a friendly smile when his eyes are on me, stern hostility when his gaze moves to Ari. These men are rivals, apparently because of me. Not that I asked for suchattention. Last time we all stood here, they almost clashed. It feels like so long ago, though just a few days have passed.
“We do, my jarl,” replies Ari.
Sigurd nods at Ari before turning to me.
“Has our budding Volva planted roots for her tree to grow from?”
“Yes, my jarl,” I say. “Ylvin was an excellent teacher, strict but patient.”
“She is a woman of many talents,” replies Sigurd.
“Indeed, she is. Her insights have opened my mind to possibilities I would never have dreamt of before ascending the mountain.”
Thyra snorts.
“Ascending the mountain,” she says. “Surely you have learned more than painting vivid imagery with empty words.”
“Lady Thyra,” I say, bowing my head. “Ylvin is merciless in her method. Through her wisdom I have faced the frailty of my mortal shell, my position as a woman, as well as the necessity of the natural order.”
“Sounds like Ylvin,” says Sigurd with a smile.
“She helped me glimpse reality beyond the veil,” I say without stopping for Sigurd’s remark.
The jarl’s eyes light up.
“You have been beyond the veil?”
