He sniffed the air like a wolf before spinning on his heel and stalking out of the longhouse, his men following. The heart I’d fought to keep calm began thundering, and I released a shuddering breath when the three men left soon after, leaving me alone in the large house.
Heat burned behind my eyes as I tried to get my breathing to even. I’d known the Hird would be dangerous, but the trials hadn’t even begun. I wiped at my feet the best I could as the man’s words echoed in my mind.
You might get away with that attitude at home, heir. But at the Hird, it smells like a target. Making enemies here is not a good idea, so keep that tongue behind your teeth before someone decides to cut it out.
I fisted my hands until they shook, the doubtful faces of my people—my own blood—burning like brands in my mind. I’dsurvived. I’d not only found a way to hide that my strength was gone but also fooled one of the king’s men. It might not have been pretty, but I’d done it.
And if someone tried to come for my tongue if I had to do it again?
“Then let them,” I whispered.
It wasn’t like I had another choice.
Three
Iwinced as I rummaged through the satchel Viljan had packed. In it were only two sets of battle leathers and a too-warm fur cloak, and while we weren’t a people that dressed up often, I had a feeling the king would expect something a bit more formal for the first night.
“Are you the Sweengards’ heir?”
After whirling, nearly slipping on the blood, I came face-to-face with a pale-haired man, about a head taller than myself, with green eyes that reminded me far too much of my brother’s.
“You must be,” he continued, amusement causing a ripple in his stoic composure. “And let me guess… That’s a karl who tried to come after you?” He swirled his boot around in the blood. “Messy. The thralls aren’t going to be happy with you.”
He was jarl. He had to be. He exuded the same mixture of arrogance and mischief Lika used to, and I gripped the pouch so as not to let my hand fly to my aching chest when the man curiously tilted his head. As his gaze went up and down my body, across my rumpled tunic and my bare legs and bloodied feet, and he raised a brow, I cleared my throat.
“I’m Elvara Sweengard,” I replied hoarsely as I tried to appear very interested in how the satchel sealed. “Who are you?”
The man opened his mouth, but a furiously high-pitched female voice broke in before he could respond. I jerked when a side door in the longhouse flew open. Wood slammed against wood, drowning out the drums from the main tent.
“She’sthe Sweengard heir? Can’t anyone get it right around here? I thought Lika was supposed to be here!” She tsked, red flaring on her cheeks. “That damned king’s second. Now I have to run all the way back to my tent to get her proper clothing!” The woman’s sigh echoed in my bones. “It would be a dishonor to all of us for King Gustief to see her in that.” Her gaze fell to the ground, and her already tense features locked up. “Is that adeadinitiate?”
The woman was a maid, although the gilded crown on her dress signaled she was a high-ranking thrall, most likely born within the king’s own house of servants. The firelight cast a sickly yellow glow over her wrinkled features, but she held her head high as she grumbled at having to get someone to clean this up. Her lip twisted as if my very presence were a bitter draft she was forced to swallow.
My shoulders pulled in, and when I tried to offer an apologetic smile, she clicked her tongue again. This definitely was no lowly housekeeper. While it wasn’t the way I had been brought up, I was familiar with thrall classes and rankings from our travels to other islands and on the few occasions we fought together with other fylkis.
My father hadn’t enforced hierarchy in our village in the same way the other chieftains did. In other villages, jarls, karls, our classes, and the thralls were entirely separated, forbidden to consort unless in a formal occupational capacity. In ours, thralls married karls, and we even had a jarl wed a servant last year. Few brows had lifted as she walked down the aisle to greet him, her smile so bright it drowned whatever muttering there was.
The wrinkled maid hadn’t addressed me directly—the laws of the hall forbade a thrall from speaking until a noble jarl tongue loosened theirs—but pride kept her neck straight, and onlysomeone who slept near the king’s hearth would dare to voice such harsh critique of my state.
“You may speak,” I said softly. “And please, no bother.” I waved the bag. “The festivities have already begun. I’ll wear my best leathers. And I’m sorry about the mess.”
“Sorry? You can be as sorry as you want, but that’s going to stain! Andthat?” She waved toward the leathers I’d left on the bed. “Thatwill not please the king.” The maid scoffed, already turning to head out the side door, onto a path leading to the lake behind the longhouse. “I will fetch you something appropriate while I get someone to deal with this. I have no desire to also scrub elite blood from the tent’s floor.”
I grimaced. Making enemies of the servants on the first night wasn’t in my plans.
Don’t underestimate a thrall. They hear and see and know things we don’t.
That’s what my father had once told me when I asked why another chief brought his band of servants to one of our war camps. My father always taught us that power wasn’t only found in a sharp blade or a divine rune. It was in the hands that cleaned the hearth and the ears that caught the whispers of the high seat. A piece of bread or a scrap of leather could be the difference between life and the grave when the tides turned against us.
“It’s all right, Marion. My sister hasn’t arrived yet.” The blond man waved toward me, lips curled with amusement but also a touch of malice that made the hair on my arms rise. “The girl looks about her size. She can borrow one of her dresses.”
“Shehas a name,” I mumbled. “And as I said, it’s fine. I will shoulder the king’s disappointment.”
Marion ignored me. “Vero won’t mind?”
He shook his head. “She won’t be arriving until the trials begin. She has no need for it tonight.”
The maid turned to me, shaking her head with such disdain, the urge to fold into myself grew hot across my skin. “I don’t know how much clothing will help,” she muttered, eliciting achuckle from the man. “She needs two baths and a full scrubbing. And that hair… it’s so tangled she could be out here all night trying to tame it.”
