Alone in the part of the cabin designated as a kitchen, I decide to familiarize myself with what is in the many baskets and boxes. Being completely and unabashedly nosey, I find more flasks of honeyed wine and take note of his collection of herbs. He canwrite, which makes me feel hopeful and inadequate at the same time.
Aslaug slinks out of the bedroom and makes herself comfortable by the fire while I figure out where he keeps grain or flour. Cooking takes my mind off of my problems usually, and even though my problems are bigger and harder than ever before, it won’t hurt to do a familiar task. We need to eat and keep our hands off each other until I know what it means to be bound to him.
Shaw is outside long enough that I have a pot of stew with leftover rabbit meat from this morning bubbling away by the time he returns.
“I didn’t know you enjoyed cooking,” he says, pulling off thick gloves and laying them next to the hearth. No coat, no vest, just his cream tunic clinging to his chest and torso.
“I need to eat,” I answer, adding dollops of ground grain mixed with an egg I found in his dirt cellar. I put the lid back on the iron pot to let the contents crust up. Aslaug saunters through the legs of his kitchen table, rubbing herself against him until she purrs into his knees.
In my need to be useful, I already set out two bowls and spooned herbs into the bottom of two tea cups. We ladle each other food, filling the tea cups with hot water from the second kettle I stuck behind the stew pot, all while awkwardly dancing around the cracks in our newly formed relationship. I want to ask so many questions, but in truth, I am scared to know the answers.
“You’re very quiet,” he says as I stand from the table with my empty bowl and spoon.
“It’s been a long day.” I sigh. “Actually it’s been a very long few months.” I turn my back and dump the cooking utensils into the awaiting wash basin. Being prepared to clean after cooking was a lesson my mother taught me for being efficient when there is little light in the winter months.
Shaw comes up behind me, sliding his arms around to put his own bowl in the basin, and takes my soapy hands.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, and I shrug. Sliding from his grip, I dunk my hands in the lukewarm water to rinse themoff. I set the bowls to dry on a rag and walk the length of the kitchen.
“I don’t know. I feel as though I got what I wanted, but at what cost?” I ask, spinning on my heels to look at him. He drags the chair from the table so he can sit while I pace.
“Go on,” he urges, filling up the tea cups with wine this time.
“I hastily offered myself up as a fucking sacrifice, and no one batted an eyelash. Harald is doing what right now? Planning on taking over the Beaivi Clan, most likely, and corralling all the reindeer for himself because Jorvik knows what the map looks like.”
“We will get to the herd first.” A hint of concern brushes through his face.
“How can you be so sure? And what about the bow? I don’t even know what the bow does because you apparently have magic that you’ve had the whole time and haven’t used. I should go back to the village, back to the women.”
“Slow down, Rasha.”
“I can’t!” My voice breaks, and he leans back in the chair like I’ve wounded him. “I can’t stop thinking of the events of Yule. Maybe I let my feelings for you get in the way.” I say what has been on the tip of my tongue all day, and he holds my glare with that sorrowful look in his hazel eyes. Not even Odin could stop me from having some compassion, even when it is probably why I am failing.
“That may be true. Maybe we shouldn’t have let it go as far as it did,” he replies, and now I am the one wounded.
“I didn’t mean it like that. I know what I did. And what I wanted to do, but it is at odds with helping the women and keeping the reindeer’s resources hidden.”
“Is it? Or are you scared now that you hold power?” He slides the cup across the table.
“Why can’t you explain what that power is exactly? Magic chains and hidden goddess relics in a place that I had to sacrifice myself to get to? Are we still in the Mortal Realm or can you travel between realms?” I start to unravel, shrieking through the last question, but he stays annoyingly calm.
“Have a sip or three,” he softly says. The wine tastes better thanit did in the forge, and it reminds me of how kind he was that night. “The chain is ours now, and a time will come when you’ll need to decide if you want to make the last two links or part from me. The choice will be yours, I swear. And the bow holds the last of Skadi’s power. The ability of the huntress will determine if she can wield it. That is why you cannot go running back to your brother.”
“Maybe I can change his mind?” I harp on the topic of Jorvik instead of Shaw telling me I can decide my own fate. He picks up my deflection, and his quiet demeanor fractures.
“That’s ridiculous, and you know it. You’re more capable than he could ever be. Why can’t you see that you don’t need him?”
“Because, Shaw, when you have a family, you don’t abandon them,” I seethe and walk away. I know it’s his room with only one bed, but I need space. He doesn’t follow me as I close the door and lay down. Staring at the ceiling, I listen to Shaw and Aslaug move around the cabin as guilt gnaws away at me, and my eyes swim with fresh tears. It hurts to think about my brother—how he condemned me to death without so much as saying goodbye, and how our parents would be ashamed of what has become of their children. Both are unable to complete a Yule and make good decisions to support each other.
22
RASHA
My longboat is surrounded by a flaming fjord. Waves rock back and forth, licking the sides of the wood. Burning hair and flesh sting my nose and eyes. Blinking my surroundings into focus, I can see my torso is secured to the bench with rope. I try to turn around on the bench, but fire scalds the sea as far as I can see. The boat rocks up and down in swells larger than I remember, and I try to pat my dress down for the amulet.
“Aslaug!” I am screaming, but I can’t hear myself. I try to scream her name over and over again. Maybe I am screaming for him too.
Fire-kissed water dumps into the boat as the waves crest higher around me. Yanking my hands back and forth, I am stuck, tied to the burning boat with nothing and no one. My skin sweats with each lick of the blaze.
