“Here, Kilda,” she says as she steps toward me.
In her hand is a folded bundle of cloth. But it’s not some brown shirt, simple dress, or drying cloth. It’s so much more. It’s a dark blue robe.
“For me?”
“No, for the other Kilda over there. Of course it’s for you.”
I laugh in disbelief.
“You’re not serious?”
“A Volva needs a robe.”
“But what did this cost?”
Blue is by far the most expensive dye, reserved for nobles and lords, or the extremely wealthy. Also the traditional color of a Volva’s robes. It would have taken masters months to create a hue this deep. The robe is worth more than everything my father and I owned when I was a traveler.
“Who cares about the price?” she insists.
“But I am a slave. I own nothing.”
“You are a Volva. You are not a slave. You have been enslaved, big difference.”
“Everyone down in the valley would beg to differ,” I say in a somber tone.
“That is your first task,” says Ylvin as she places the robe in my hands.
“What is?”
She pushes a strand of wet hair from the side of my face, cupping my cheek in her hand. Like a mother would with her child, a rare moment of tenderness from my teacher.
“Convincing Sigurd to release you.”
CHAPTER 37
“So, when do you actually recite any poetry?” I ask in my most innocent voice. I feel energized. I did it. I performed actual magic. After my conversation with Ylvin I practically skipped back to camp. I ate with vigor as I planned my speech to Jarl Sigurd.
Ari has been walking in front of me in silence for a while. His mood is much heavier than mine. I don’t know why. To be honest, I don’t really care. Whatever brooding sadness the skald has allowed to dictate his outlook is but a drop in my ocean of satisfaction. He doesn’t answer my question, just keeps descending the bush-covered slope.
“So? When?” I repeat.
“I sang to you yesterday,” he says without humor.
“A children’s song, a lullaby.”
He stops, turns, and stares me dead in the eyes.
“It put you to sleep,” he says.
“Yes, and?”
“Either you are a child or it’s fitting for adults.”
What’s up with Ari? So stern, so boring. No fun.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“Don’t be silly,” he says as he keeps walking.
