“She can teach me,” he says gruffly as he digs further into his fourth bowl of stew.
I laugh—I can’t possibly take the honor for the meal.
“Ari can teach you,” I say, eyes twinkling at the cook. “He taught me tonight.”
My tone is lifted. I’ve been drinking fast, excited by the food and Ylvin’s good mood.
“You’re a great student,” says Ari with an unbelievably smug grin.
I shake my head. The man is unbearable. Hard to read. One second, he’s tender and passionate. The next, he’s cocky as, well… as a cock.
“I’m happy to hear it,” says Ylvin. “That will make my job so much easier.”
Ylvin’s slurring her words. She’s drunk—more than me, even. She tosses her head back and empties her cup down her gullet, releasing a delighted sigh.
I was hoping for a wise older woman to teach me the ways of Freya. Instead, I got a horny lady with a love for food and drink. Still, even in her current state, she exudes a mystical power. It tingles every time she lays eyes on me.
“So, Kilda,” says Ylvin. “The reason we are all here. Jarl Sigurd tells me you’ve received training earlier?”
“Yes.” I nod. “It was interru?—”
“How did she perform her Seidr?” she asks.
“How? Uh… what do you mean?”
“Oh my. I mean did she sacrifice? Animals? Folk?”
“By the gods no, not that I know of.”
A chill runs down my spine. There are stories of Volvas taking life to lay or lift curses. Sacrificing dozens, even, tosummon storms. Groa had warned me about such magic—for every drop of blood spilled, a Volva has to sacrifice a piece of herself too. Some bridges do not allow return after being crossed. I hope Ylvin isn’t one of those. The Volva cocks her head at me.
“Was it sex she used perhaps?”
“She never said that, no, but she had a son.”
Ylvin throws her head back, howling in laughter. Elof joins in a second after. Either because it took him a second to understand what was funny, or just to support his wife. I, for one, don’t understand what was funny.
“A son, indeed. So how did she tell you to channel magic, girl? How did she perform the art? What did she teach you?”
“She talked of intent—ritual combined with intent.”
“I see.” Ylvin holds her chin as she gazes into the air. “Quite rare.”
“I don’t understand,” I say. “What’s rare?”
“A Volva unwilling to go the extra mile. If she actually is touched, of course.”
Groa? Not touched? Fucking ridicu?—
“Ritual needs a little more than intent. It can go very wrong, you know. Intent is of course necessary with any magic, but alone, it is the weakest.” Ylvin grins, showing strangely sharp teeth. “It’s like just serving us water with raw carrots in it, instead of this beautiful stew you made with Ari.”
My cheeks heat up as I catch what she is implying. That I could amplify my magic by sharing a bed with Ari. I’m happy the orange light of the fire hides my blush. Glancing at him, I’m expecting a bastard grin, but he is watching the Volva intently. Ylvin’s grin widens.
“Don’t worry, girl. A Volva never does something she doesn’t want,” says Ylvin. “We just make the best of what we have. You can always say no.”
“Okay, but I don’t under?—”
“Do you sing?”
