“An invitation, like on the hammer. To summon the Jotnar. It says, ‘Awaken, Giant.’”
A gray-haired man steps forward. He is wearing bright colors under his leather—surely a wealthy man. A land-owner. He nods to the jarl before speaking to me.
“What is the goal of such curses?”
“It’s hard to say, I only know their method,” I respond. “Surely the culprit aims to doom the hall.”
“Why not burn down buildings then?” he asks as he holds out his arms to the side. Some men have no faith in that which they cannot see.
“Wood can be chopped. Planks can be made. If I know the men of Opdal, they would rebuild a smoldering farm within a week.”
Several men clap at my words, but my eyes stay firmly on the veteran in front of me. The applause dies down before I speak again, trying to keep my voice firm and authoritative.
“The guilty one is trying to tear at the veil.”
A ripple of hushed voices surrounds me. At least they are taking me seriously. The veteran, however, simply laughs. Forced, in my opinion.
“Children’s tales!” he shouts over the chatter.
Jarl Sigurd holds up his hand, making mouths shut and eyes turn to him.
“Where did you find this curse?” he asks me.
“On the northern wall of Ari the Skald’s house.”
Sigurd nods slowly, his eyes showing contemplation. Like the gray veteran, many don’t believe in the power of runes or a Volva’s abilities, but even a non-believing ruler does not want dissent among his people. Someone made the inscription, someone with ill intent. The jarl has a wolf in his flock, a rotten apple in his basket. A traitor.
“I will have it inspected,” he says in conclusion. “Inform me of any more curses that you find, Kilda.”
I work hard to suppress my smile. He calls me by my name, without even adding the title of slave or thrall to it—in front of everyone. I wish that putrid skald heard this, but unless he’s hiding in the corner again, he isn’t present.
“Of course, Jarl Sigurd,” I respond as I bow.
“Well done,” he says. “You may leave.”
After a quick nod to Thyra, I turn to see Vidar waiting by the door. He opens it for me—a pleasant surprise.
“Thank you, my lord,” I say with a smile as I brush past him, my back straight and head high. Even as a thrall, a known thief, my goal is to be perceived as honorable, powerful. Like Thyra. Vidar surprises me further by walking out of the throne room and into the hall with me.
“Kilda, may we speak?”
Asking a slave to speak? It would seem I am growing out of my station. Any freeman can speak to a thrall, at least oneowned by their own father. I keep the thought to myself as I play demure.
“Of course, my lord.”
“Come on, call me Vidar,” he says with a grin. “Since when are we so formal?”
I return the smile.
“You’re right, Vidar. What do you wish to speak of?”
“Uh, it was, well… I wanted to say well done regarding Thyra. She was very angry earlier.”
I hide doubt from my face. Vidar is hard to place. Whose side is he on? It’s like he wants me close, as a friend, but also under his heel, as a thrall. I stay formal.
“Understandably, I acted without honor.”
“Eating a few berries with the children isn’t the harshest crime,” he laughs.
