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In other words, I would tidy yet another of Bjorn’s messes. My brother would not meet my gaze. He stared at the hearth, almost as pale as Astrid.
“Sol.” Arn took my elbow, and her affectionate shortening of my name could have been an oblique comment upon my father’s bluffness. Or perhaps it was a measure of gentleness, a shieldmaid’s care for her charge. “I think your lady mother requires you.”
Of course she would not deign to chide Eril directly, even if one taken by the Black-Wingéd speaks as she wills. Or perhaps she simply did not consider him worth the effort at the moment, for I swayed and might have fallen. The walk to the great stone dais where my family’s great oaken table rested seemed much longer than usual, not least because the hall was packed close with feasters who did not want to miss whatever spectacle the paying of weregild would give rise to.
The gossips on either side of the river would have many a mouthful to chew as the days lengthened.
My mother Gwendelint stood very straight, her thighs braced against the table-edge. Astrid, frozen next to her, stared at me as if I were a new creature, a misshapen thing come from blackest night and deep snows. A hectic glitter had kindled in Mother’s bright, pale gaze, and this close I saw high color in her cheeks. Whatever draught the boy had given her provided at least some short-term strength; I could not even teach Astrid how to mix Idra’s more subtle ague-medicine, for it requiredseidhrto work properly.
Mother hurried from the great table, meeting me upon the dais steps with an embrace I fell gratefully into; Astrid moved woodenly to do so as well. Some of the feasting throng, male and female alike, began to drift for the doors where my father stood as if dazed. He bid each farewell courteously enough, though, and Dun Rithell would be held safe and lucky for another year since aseidhr-lit bonfire had survived the night. Trade negotiations and legal cases would commence in earnest upon the morrow, when men and women headsore or stomach-sour from feasting had recovered enough to argue for remedy, prosecution, or profit.
It would have been my task to arbitrate no few of the agreements, had I not been bargained away to the Northerners. As it was, I shut my eyes, my face buried in my mother’s shoulder, and she did not shake with the ague but held me as if I were young again and she a statue of Fryja brought to warm bounteous life. “My Solveig,” she whispered into my braids, still full of smoke and the wind-scent of the year’s longest night. “Good fortune to our house, and for you most of all.”
It was unlike her to be superstitious, but I could attribute it to whatever potion she had swallowed. My senses could find naught amiss in her breath or pulse, and were the boy’s draught poison I did not think the Northerners would promise a return.I lit the fire, Mother. Tell me you noticed; tell me someone did.
Then I was chastised for my pride, for Astrid’s embrace tightened, her arms woven with my mother’s and mine, the three of us standing and breathing as a single pillar. No man, not even Bjorn who had been born of our mother’s body, could intrude upon that. Hot water welled behind my lashes.
I swallowed a heavy weight that tasted of tears, and I could tell myself the trembling was Astrid’s.
“The winter fire itself,” Mother continued, her arms tightening. “My little weirdling; I should have been there to see it. Well done.”
“Year and a day,” Astrid breathed, ever more concerned with what would be than what had been. “They would not take Bjorn, though Father pressed them. I even offered to go, since I was the cause of the matter. But no. They wanted our Solveig.”
At least someone does.But my heart eased, for Mother had noticed my achievement and as long as she did, the rest of the world did not matter so much. “I was afraid I could not do it,” I admitted into my dam’s shoulder, covered with fine grey woolen cloth. “But Arn was there, and it was like lighting Idra’s cooking fire.” I inhaled sharply, and hated that I sounded so forlorn. “Must I go?”
It was unworthy of avolva. But in the circle of a mother’s arms we are all, and ever, children.
“I am so sorry,” Astrid continued, fair to bursting with her apologies. She always had the more tender heart, between us. “I was afraid, Solveig. I would go in your stead, if they would but let me.”
“It could not be, Astrid. Let us fasten upon what we must donow.” Mother patted at the back of my head, and she took over the weight of organizing and commanding once more so I did not have to. “Albeig, bring breakfast for my eldest daughter. Astrid, go fetch the recipe Lord Aeredh left; ’tis upon my nightstand. Come, Solveig, sit. Arn, mighty daughter, there is much meat, and you shall have ale from my own cup.”
It was as if she had never been ill, and though I was glad my pride also writhed a fraction or two, sensing that the boy Aeredh, whoever he was and despite carrying a sword, had someseidhrthat I had not studied deeply enough to bring to my mother’s aid.
Perhaps he would teach it, then. A small recompense, but one I set myself to wrest from the Northerners if they would insist upon carrying me away.
For after all, a thin worm of excitement had begun to twist at the prospect of travel, down in the most secret chambers of my heart.
Never Fear
If a man is foolish enough to enter the women’s quarters, a spindle-crack upon his skull is the least he may expect.
—Saying of the southron Riverfolk
The rest of that day was a blur, except for when Bjorn caught me at the door to the women’s hall. He had lingered for some while to do so, his expression suggested, and he did not even flyte with Arn as he was often wont to do. “Solveig.”
“Bjorn.” I leaned against the wooden wall, my arms full of folded textiles; Astrid had indeed found some fine cloth a-market before doom had fallen. “What under the fishgutting stars were you thinking? Don’t answer that, we both know you weren’t thinking at all.”
“I know I am to blame, you need not harry me further.” He hunched uncomfortably as Ulfrica hurried past, hissing in his direction like a disturbed granary cat. Ever he is childlike, my brother, when he is not possessed by a battle-god or prodded by a passingvalkyra—the Wingéd Ones have little use for men before they are dead, but they like battle well enough and those with some facility in it are often under their gaze. “I did not even mean to do it, I swear.”
Arn, with merely a single contemptuous glance, took herself a few strides in the opposite direction and leaned against the wall, pointedly ignoring both of us.
“Well, if one of them made a jest in Astrid’s direction, of courseyou had to respond.” My legs were not quite steady, but at least I could sleep in my own bed that night. All other matters, consequential or not, would have to wait until I had endured this day and secured that modest blessing. “I am told a cobblestone had the slaying of the Northern lord’s son, and you largely blameless indeed.”
“Do not mock me, sister.” He rubbed under his blond beard, not nearly so full as Father’s. But Bjorn had time to grow one, or so we all said. His warrior’s crest was freshly oiled, and the braids under it carefully redone. “Though if you ever stopped, I should think you one of Odynn’s wicker dolls substituting for my own Sol.”
“And if you passed a day without needing my mockery, I might well thinkyousubstituted.” An unwilling smile touched my lips, though a man was dead. Bjorn was, after all, Mother’s firstborn and my brother—any breath of disrespect to his two sisters earned enough ire from him to make every warrior in Dun Rithell, not to mention many upriver or down, think twice before uttering lightsome words. “At least you only struck the one insulting Astrid. I can hardly fault you for that.”
“Well…” He glanced over his shoulder, as if afraid the entire household would hear. I remembered stitching his shirt, content to do the dray-work while Astrid’s fine touch embroidered sleeves and hem; at least he had not forgotten his new belt or beard-pin, and wore both proudly. Even his felted indoor boots were familiar, and a sign he did not perhaps think it quite wise to leave the hall for some short while. “Actually… that is to say…”
