“Thora! If you hit the mead cask one more time, I shall force you to stand there all evening corking the holes,” he warns the girl while she struggles to remove one of her knives from the wood.
Avina observes from the long kitchen table as she slices vegetablesfor their evening meal. Sigvid is busy preparing a hunk of elk meat while Thora continues tossing knives at a bullseye she has rigged against the far wall.
Every strike of her blade’s edge against the board causes Sigvid to glance up in an approving or disapproving grunt. Avina can not help the amusement over this side of the bloodthirsty berserker.
Sigvid stops Thora. “Hey kid, do you have somewhere to live? Besides here,” he holds up a hand to stop her clear retort.
Thora’s shoulders slump as one knife misses its mark, reverberating off the stone wall. She kicks the floor with her big toe. “Thrain gifted Steinbjorn’s house to someone in his court. He had me evicted not long after.”
“He fucking evicted you?” Sigvid rubs his temples, “You should be the owner of the fucking house. What a dick he…” He takes a deep breath, “Could you live with Helga?”
Thora throws her head back and barks a laugh. “Last time I was in her home, I accidentally broke a ceramic mug, and she’s never let me forget it.”
“What about Kar? He has a larger, nice house in town.”
Why does he not invite her to stay here? Undoubtedly, he has at least a dozen or more bedrooms available.
Avina’s head rises when all she can hear is the fireplace crackling. Thora focuses on the flames, her lips in a thin line.
“Of course, you didn’t hear. Sven is missing, Uncle Sig. When he didn’t return one night, Kar refused to allow anyone, except family, to enter his house.” The young girl’s green eyes reflect the flickering flames.
Avina’s heart aches as Thora appears even more youthful and alone.
He sighs. “I am sorry, kid, I did not know he was missing. Has Thrain sent anyone looking for him?”
Thora shakes her head with a sniffle. “The Drengr had not even got back from the war when Sven ambushed a courier,” Avina observes that the girl’s eyes are anywhere but on Sigvid. “He was furious about whatever he found. He vanished a month ago.”
And this last bit is thoroughly rehearsed.
“You will stay here until I can sort this out.” He takes over mealpreparation from Avina while she heads outside to assist Thora with feeding the animals.
“If anyone can find Sven, it will be your Uncle.” Avina offers the sentiment to a quivering Thora.
The girl stands in the center of frantic chickens, dropping handfuls of seed onto a growing mound. The single food source drives the birds wild as they peck around her ankles.
Avina continues when she doesn’t respond, “I know what it’s like to feel trapped and alone. It is as if you cannot escape the only situation you know of. No matter how hard you try, you feel contained, and those you care about are always at arm’s length.”
Avina finishes feeding the cows, goats, and Hest in time to see Thora watching her, still hovering over the chickens with a fist full of feed.
“The Drengr took me in when they didn’t have to. Steinbjornismy father. I know that. Not just the man who took me in but my father in every sense of the word. Now he is gone, and so is Sven…” Tears fall as her pent-up emotion over the last couple of months unleashes.
Avina wraps her in an embrace, rubbing her back. Thora shudders, and her overgrown tunic grows wetter under her tears. She looks up to see the Salt Prince at the top stair of the wraparound porch.
His content smile worms its way into her heart, clutching her with a warmth that reaches her toes.
“Hey, you two, finish the feedings and come inside for grub.”
“I’m sorry.” Thora wipes her runny nose with the back of her hand.
“Never apologize for experiencing grief. For you or someone else.” She brushes strands of wild midnight hair from her wet cheeks. “I can’t imagine having someone as close to me as your father was to you. To lose him must have been heartbreaking.”
Thora’s fist flies out of nowhere, connecting like a light poke against Avina’s arm. The action makes her jump and cower.
“If Uncle Sig brought you here, looking like that as a Queen,” she gestures to Avina’s grungy borrowed attire, “then you are likely his prisoner.” She tilts her head as if fully seeing Avina for the first time. “You haven’t fought him. Which means you don’t want to leave.”
It’s Avina’s turn to swallow against the lump in her throat.
“Your Uncle will skin us both if we don’t ‘ooh’ and ‘awe’ over his elk roast.”
