“So where do you think Bjorn hides out during the day?” I change the topic.
“First, you need to cover that gorgeous hair of yours.” The compliment gets a rise in me as Shaw ducks in between the wooden houses and huts and takes a short, deep brown cloak from a line hanging in between the windows.
“We will return it later,” he says when I raise my eyebrows at his thievery. “Bjorn has a room in the stronghold. I found out late last night when I joined the men for a drink.”
“How are they feeling about Harald?”
Shaw shrugs, coming around the side where huge snow drifts have collected against the houses.
“They fear the King, and they question whether Harald can really keep him placated.”
The idea of the King is so foreign to me that I have put the threat of another man coming to take from our land at the bottom of my long list of worries. As Shaw and I draw closer to the stronghold, I pull the hood over my hair and pray that we aren’t caught.
“You are assuming he’s not in his room?” My voice is a gargled hush. We wait for two men to wheel a wagon, carrying tapestries that will hang on the partitions for the Hunt, into the courtyard, and walk easily next to them.
“He’s in the tavern with the men,” Shaw explains, and I stay flush to his side so we look like one big group.
“How do you know?”
“Because we passed them when you were trying to work out the reindeer and the runes.”
“Oh.” feeling foolish, I try to remember the path we took to get here.
“Do you know what Harald does during the day?” Shaw asks as we walk through the dark hallways that outline the stronghold.
“He naps when he isn’t mucking up every ritual and stomping around like an insolent child.”
Shaw laughs at my description and takes my hand as we walk deeper into the dark hallway. At the end is a staircase and hallway that mirror where my room is on the other side. I assume Harald is the last room which takes up the shorter back wall over the Feast Hall.
“What if he keeps the map on his person?” I ask, tugging on Shaw’s hand for no reason other than knowing this is a bad idea.
“One problem at a time.” Shaw moves down the second level hallway, and sure enough, there are two doors to two bedrooms. Taking out a roll of leather from the inside of his vest, he lays it on the floor, then finds skinny tools and sizes them against the lock.
“Is this how you broke into my room?”
“I made the locks, so yes. Does that alarm or excite you?”
It excites me, but this is not the time to feel warmth between my legs. Meanwhile, Shaw kneels at the lock, putting his head at the level of my thighs. After a few short taps and the sound of the gear grinding, the lock pops, and we give the door an easy push to open it.
This room might not be Bjorn’s, but it is certainly a man’s room. Clothes are everywhere, as well as weapons and half drunk cups of ale. A woman’s under things are scrunched up on the bed, and the sheets are twisted in a used way.
“Rasha?” I hear my name croak from a weak voice, and I freeze. My eyes refuse to register what I see while blood drains from my face.
On the other side of the room, Katrine and Ingrid are chained to the corner post. The post is flush with the wall and connected to the roof, so they would never be able to get out on their own.
“Katrine, who did this to you?” I muster every available ounce of courage to walk across the room without disturbing anything. Shaw turns to the wall to give us a moment of privacy.
“Bjorn and his friends. She’s not awake. I don’t even know if she’s still breathing. Get her out first.” Katrine’s words are strong, but tears slide down her cheeks over the deep cut on her lip.
“You’re going to be okay,” I assure her. Kneeling, I pull her torn dress up over the deep bruises where no one should have bruises. There are so many wounded parts of her body that I stop counting. Smoothing her matted hair from her forehead, I ask, “What happened?”
“I started dancing with Bjorn. It’s not the first interaction we’ve had, so he set his sights on Ingrid. But she’s so young, Rasha. I couldn’t let him take her alone, so I offered myself.”
Shaw comes to Ingrid’s side, pressing his fingers gently into her neck to see if she’s still alive. I take the borrowed cloak off and put it over her body as she blinks awake.
“Rasha?” Her voice comes out like gravel.
“We are getting you out,” Shaw says, and Ingrid tries to twisther tortured body to see him. Finding different tools, he starts to unlock the wide cuffs around her wrists.
