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Claire gave me a sideways look. “They have one for you, too, you know.”
“A nickname?”
She nodded. “They’re calling you ambhofði. It means two-headed. I guess because of you and . . . you know.”
I blinked. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
“They say it’s an honor. That all warriors have a string of nicknames, telling their story.” She sighed. “They’re probably going to give you more.”
“Good,” I decided.
“Good?”
“Then I can bore them with all my names, just like they do me.”
Claire laughed. “They’ll probably enjoy it! If you stay still long enough, they’ll tell you all about how they got each of their names, and ask about yours. You can be trapped for hours.”
Okay, that was slightly alarming.
“So, anyway, back to Kjeld. Do you like it?”
“What does it mean?”
She spread out some wrinkles in the sheets. “Large pot.”
I grinned.
“Well, trolls like to eat! And a large pot of . . . whatever . . . means you aren’t likely to starve. And you can even feast others!”
“Sounds good to me. Or you could just ask him what he wants to be called.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. He speaks almost no English, and even Olga can barely understand his dialect. But he’ll be around a little while recovering, and I refuse to call him Wart the whole time!”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I had a kid named Stinky.
“Anyway, word is that the mountain tribes have been hit hard by the slavers, because they’re usually small groups, and too weak to fight back. But there’s a lot of them, and they’re spread over a large area, and sometimes they war with each other and”—she sighed—“it’s a mess. And with the little one’s condition, even if Olga does find his people, they may not claim him.”
“So what happens then?”
“I don’t know.”
She fluffed pillows.
“He’s very sweet, though.”
More fluffing.
“He liked my soup.”
I didn’t say anything; I wasn’t stupid.
I was seriously stiff, though. It felt like the years were finally catching up to me. A lot of years, I thought uncomfortably. All the freaking years.
Until I stretched, and oh. My. God. Oh yeah. Oh fuck yeah.
Claire was looking at me in sudden alarm. “Did you just crack every bone in your spine?”
“Yeah.” It felt so good that I did it again. And then rolled my neck around, hearing what sounded like miniature fireworks going off.
