“I’m sure they’ve planned something. They always do.”
“That they switched doesn’t surprise me. Lika has always been shady.”
“Do you think she’s as spoiled as he is?”
“I don’t know. She’s so small.”
“Don’t underestimate her. Her father’s rune gives her the strength of five men. We’ll have to be clever if we’re going to get to her.”
“Oh, I’m sorry!” I nearly walked right into a girl with thick raven hair falling far down her back and eyes so striking green a twinge of envy struck me at how dull my moss-colored ones were in comparison. Only because the last rays of the sun bounced off the insignia on her dark gray dress—the one marking her one of the king’s servants—was I able to stop in time.
“You fine.” The girl’s accent was thick, the words nearly spat out, but the soft smile on her face was real. “Lost?”
The servants—the thralls—were captives the king’s warriors brought home with them. They were mainly girls, always pretty, and while some weren’t treated the best by the men, the king made sure they could work if they wanted, and that they were fairly paid. We had a woman back home who’d fallen in love with one of my father’s warriors, and she now helped at the hearth for food, while her husband had settled down as a shipmaster.
“I am lost, yes,” I admitted. “I just arrived.”
Her eyes flew over my stained clothing. “You’re heir?”
I twisted my lips. “Is it that obvious?”
“You have the”—she waved her hand toward my legs—“walk of heir. You stay in the longhouse. Most are in tent, but if you hurry, you make it before the king’s s-second announce your name. Water is by door, and all hearths have clean cloths.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
She smiled at me again before rushing around a tent with a braided basket filled with herring, whose smoky scent made my mouth water. I hesitated for a moment, watching the girl fall in line with a group of other servants, all carrying similar baskets—probably a sacrifice to our gods.
I tried not to think of the gods looking down upon me as I hurried the final steps to the longhouse. Waiting for a beat outside the thick walls, I listened. There was nothing more than the crackle of fire, so I pulled on the thick door to open it just enough for me to sneak inside.
It took a while for my eyes to get used to the dim light. When they finally did, they revealed a longhouse similar to ones I’d stayed in with my family. Four dozen or so hearths stood dispersed amongst the space, a welcoming fire smoldering in each. Around each one lay cot after cot with thick wool blankets and fur to soften the bedding.
The five runes the gods had gifted our people were painted across the wooden walls. My nails buried themselves in my palms as I saw styrk, my father’s rune—the one fading on my chest, which was supposed to have remained mine until the gods gifted Lika a new one—drawn in blood across the closest side. Taking a deep breath as pain crushed against my rib cage, I shoved the memory of my father—of my family and people—from my mind.
I didn’t have the luxury of breaking.
I turned to the rest of the longhouse. There were about a hundred beds—all standing in circles around the hearths spread out across the room—and on almost all of them lay satchels andclothing, and beneath a few stood boots, their different sizes the only clue to whether a man or a woman might be the one who’d claimed it.
In the corner a few men were standing around a sparking fire, and they turned my way, their eyes dragging over me, moving slowly from my black boots up my brown leathers until they settled on my crimson hair and the braids I was sure lay in a mess over my shoulders.
There was no one else in the longhouse. A flicker of worry made my foot snag on a fur laid out to dry over a bench to my side, but as those drums I’d heard earlier continued to beat through the night, I sneaked to the closest hearth. It was impossible to miss my name being spoken, but I steeled my spine when the men’s laughter rumbled through the space.
The sweat of too many sharing a space hung heavy in the air, but despite the heat my hands moved to my arms, bracing around my chest. This place was too familiar—too much of a reminder of home.
More whispers reached me over the hiss of fires.
“Elvara.”
“She’s alone.”
“… do you think?”
Even though I felt like I needed my arms to hold myself together, I managed to lift a hand in the air, offering the men a short wave. None of their faces were especially welcoming, but I couldn’t show any fear. The initiates at the Hird would be able to smell it.
I had no one here. Iknewno one here. But I couldn’t let them know that that bothered me. Sure, Viljan would not leave my side unless I wished so, but I’d never been this far from home. Not alone. Not without my father. Not without Lika.
Blinking hard, I forced the mist from my eyes, headed to one of the cots beneath the rune I should be wielding, and placed my pouch atop it. The bed beside it was free as well, so I took out afew other items of clothing from my satchel and placed them on the bedding so Viljan could remain close.
Gazes continued to burn across my skin, but I ignored them as I went to fill two waterskins from the buckets by the door and picked up a few soft cloths made of animal hide from a shelf by the hearth I’d chosen.
