Njord is fucking dead.
CHAPTER 52
The fresh scent of mint fills my nostrils as I slam the door behind me.
Victory! It’s hard to believe. Doubting Ari had been a waste of energy. The man can wield a blade. He could have downed two bastard Njords. Let him bleed, the fucker who hurt my friend. A dead piece of shit is better than a live one. If his blood is on my hands, let it be so.
The carpet of twilight lies across the valley, deepening shadows that dance around every tree, every blade of grass. It invites my mind to reflect. All I had hoped for, delivered. My back is straight. Freya has blessed me.
But where is Eidunn? Where have I not searched? I hope she has heard the good news—that the weight on her shoulders has been lifted. No longer must she carry sadness, gritting her teeth in silence.
The world is harsh, people are cold, but there is hope. Njord is dead.
I swap my basket of herbs and linen to my other hand, smiling at the folk around me. Some return shy smiles, some look dead serious. I care not. I am here to perform my duty. To heal the wounded. If they are angry about Njord’s death, let them get over it. I care not how supporters of abusive men would judge me.
I tap three times on the door. No response. The poor man is probably sleeping after all the excitement. If my own body was tense, I can only imagine what Ari has been through. I push the door open and step in.
My eyes instantly land on a man’s scarred back and bare buttocks. I barely manage to cover my eyes as he turns around.
“Oh my, I… I’m sorry,” I splutter.
“Odin, Kilda,” he says. “Let me put some pants on.”
I shake my head as I turn to the wall, fighting my impulse to peek at the naked skald who defended Eidunn’s honor.
“No pants. I’m here to tend your wound. But please… do cover yourself.”
“No pants?”
“No pants.”
He grunts. I hear him shift weight to his good leg. He practically shakes the house with every step.
“How is your leg?” I ask.
“Oh, just great. Nothing like a bleeding gash to be reminded of one’s mortality.”
“You fought bravely,” I say, pride swelling in my chest. I hope his wound is on the surface, so he doesn’t end up with a permanent limp.
“I am decent,” he says.
I spin, unable to suppress the grin on my face. Ari lets himself fall back on the bed. He has tied a linen shirt aroundhis groin. It covers him, yes, but it doesn’t stop me from stealing a peek at him or my imagination from running wild. His bare chest and stomach make a trickle of heat flow through my body.
“I brou…” my breath gets caught in my throat. “I brought herbs and bandages.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Ridiculous!” I dismiss his words with a wave of my arm. “You’ll catch the rot.”
I lay down my basket next to him and pick a fresh stem of yarrow from it. He raises an eyebrow as I rub the flower juices on my fingers. My hands have been rinsed in my water barrel, but yarrow protects from evil spirits. Groa taught me that.
“You don’t need to?—”
“Shush,” I hiss sternly.
I kneel next to him, pushing the linen covering upward. The smell of Ari’s blood escapes the cloth. The wound is deep, an ugly gouge that cuts from one side of his thigh to the other. Applying pressure to the flesh around it lets me get a better look inside. He groans in reaction. I’ve tended wounds before, but never anything like this.
“I… I’m sorry, Ari,” I say as I rub yarrow flowers on his skin.
