Fucking ridiculous.
It feels like I’m sticking my entire head into the mouth of a wolf, not my hand. Thyra will definitely go to Sigurd with this. Unless she agrees. I have to believe it, it’s all I’ve got. She’sa woman of influence, of noble stock, even. I have to try. For Eidunn. For all I put her through.
If it doesn’t work, I fear the worst. Over for me. Pray it goes fast.
A crow shrieks above, startling me. Crazy bastard. It just sits there, on the roof, staring at me. I hold its eyes, but it doesn’t budge. A bad fucking omen.
Should I turn? Head for Ylvin’s camp myself? Eidunn would stab me with that knife of hers. One way or the other, seems I’m headed for an early grave.
My stomach acts up again. I’m too fucking nervous. A shaking mess. I raise my hand.
Three knocks. Careful. Non-invasive. I don’t want to offend her before she even sees my face. I reek of my own sweat. I can tell. Thyra will smell me. Wrinkle her nose at a lowly slave asking for world-shifting favors. Fuck.
No answer. I knock again. Slightly harder this time. If she’s in a foul mood, I can pretend I have some errand other than the bartering of the most beautiful slave in the valley. That could work.
Waiting. Still nothing.
I look at the door handle. No fucking way. I can’t believe my eyes. Inscriptions right above it. Tiny, barely readable. But I know what they are already. Three symbols. No surprise.
Triple Thurisaz.
The curse. A curse on this house.
An impulse takes hold of me. I grab the handle and open the door.
“Uh… Hello?”
I hesitate to enter, or even open the door fully. I peer inside.
The room is smoky, with herbs still burning in a jar. Herbs with a smell I don’t recognize. The hearth is dead. Only asingle candle lights up the room. It’s like light from outside isn’t allowed to penetrate into the space.
“Hello?” I whisper.
Shuffling from the corner. Someone is here. What if Thyra is hurt? What if she’s choking on her lunch? Maybe one of the girls is hurt?
I decide to enter. Taking a deep breath as blood pumps in my ears. By the gods, Eidunn was right, I’m mad.
My foot steps on some fabric, probably a dress or a cloak. How strange. It makes me notice the state of the house. It’s a complete hovel. A pot has been knocked to the floor. Shoes and clothes lie spread about. The bed is unkempt.
Fuck it, I’m already inside.
“Thyra? Are you okay?”
As I step in, I see her. At the foot of her bed. She’s rocking back and forth like a mother comforting her baby. Her hair shoots out in all angles. The beautiful Valkyrie looks like a drunkard.
Her eyes are closed as she swings back and forth, gripping something tightly in her hands. What the fuck is going on?
“Thyra…” I whisper.
No one should see her like this. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. She’s a proud woman. She’s respected. Groomed. I can’t leave her in this state. Maybe if I help her, she will help me. I step toward her while throwing a glance at the door. Or maybe I should just run. Get the fuck out of here as fast as I can. The room is colder than outside, and somehow, it feels like it’s emanating from Thyra.
I crouch next to her.
“Thyra.”
No reaction. She just keeps rocking back and forth, eyes closed. I stretch out my hand to wake her. Maybe she’s sleepwalking. I stop my hand, hesitating. My stomach acts upagain. I’ve already vented all of its contents, but I just can’t find peace.
Should I get Sigurd? Please. Why not just jump into the river again?
