Page 10

TEN

H ekla’s nose wrinkled as she sipped the bitter mushroom tea.

The healer—the second one, that was—had left a small satchel of withered brown stems along with directions to take a daily cup of the stuff for a full week after her fever had broken.

And while a daily cup of tea was well and good, his instructions for a week of bedrest were quickly discarded.

She’d bathed and eaten a hearty bowl of stew.

And after a glorious afternoon nap, she now tried to gather her energy.

Leaning against her headboard, Hekla found herself staring at the window, searching for any trace of the phantom squirrel.

She nearly laughed at the thought. Obviously, it had been a fever-induced vision.

Now that the sun had set, sounds of laughter and revelry filtered into her room. Hekla had spent three days and nights in slumber, which made this the fifth consecutive night of the Winter Nights celebrations. They were only two nights away from the penultimate feast.

“I gather Loftur has continued his quest to drain Istré of all its winter provisions,” she muttered to Sigrún, forcing another sip of the strange tea .

They’ve been brawling and feasting each night, if that’s what you’re asking , signed Sigrún with a scowl.

“Gods above. How can that man truly think the old gods will swoop in and save them?”

It seems like Hakonsson is in Loftur’s pocket , signed Sigrún.

Hekla frowned. “I cannot understand how Axe Eyes thought him suitable to lead this investigation. It’s maddening!”

Sigrún and Gunnar nodded their agreement, then relayed the details of what had happened while she was sick.

Apparently, Hakonsson had had the foresight to have Thrand lure Loftur away from the Braksson steading to keep him from learning of Hekla’s blatant disregard of his orders.

Guilt twinged in her stomach, but as Sigrún updated her on the progression—or lack of progression—of the job, the feeling quickly dissolved.

It seemed while Hekla was unconscious, everyone had examined the site of the third attack. Not once did they venture into the woods, nor had they searched the borderlands for markings on the trees.

According to Sigrún, Eyvind and his men were raucous participants of the Winter Nights celebrations.

While Konal and Loftur were content to lounge in the seats of honor, Eyvind and his retinue participated in drinking competitions and arm-wrestling matches with an increasingly ridiculous set of wagers.

During one memorable loss, Onund Ale Drinker had had to strip naked in the middle of the Hungry Blade and run down Istré’s central road.

During another, Thrand had dropped to one knee before one of the Old Mothers and recited terrible poetry.

Thank the gods the double black moon nears , Sigrún continued. The end of these celebrations cannot come soon enough.

At mention of the double black moon, the hairs on Hekla’s neck lifted. She couldn’t help but think of that dream—of the mist seeping through the walls and into Istré. And while Hekla was not one to put weight on dreams, it felt like an ominous message.

She forced herself to drain her cup. Whatever was in that tea, it was doing good work, enlivening her blood and melting her exhaustion away. Hekla pulled the furs from her lap, then placed her feet onto the floor. After waiting a moment for the lights in her vision to clear, she gingerly stood.

Sigrún watched her warily. You should rest .

“I’ve rested enough already. Besides, I cannot hide away in bed. You know well enough how it is.”

Hekla didn’t need to spell it out. The pair of them had the double disadvantage of being female and disabled.

A single sign of weakness, and any respect they’d managed to grasp for themselves would be gone in an instant.

Women like Hekla and Sigrún had to be perfect all the damn time.

And in moments like this, it was utterly exhausting.

Sigrún’s jaw hardened, but she nodded.

After Hekla had dressed and twisted her prosthesis onto its metal anchor, she and Sigrún made their way down to the Hungry Blade.

The mead hall was packed to the brim, a wall of noise crashing upon them as they entered.

Candlelight guttered down from iron chandeliers, catching on the tapestries and weapons mounted to the walls.

Bodies jostled about as ale sloshed and dice clacked across the tables.

Hekla caught sight of Halldora, a strained look on the barmaid’s face as she scurried between warriors, refreshing their cups with a jug of ale.

Her gaze fell to the high seats, and she scowled. There sat Loftur, clad in layers of silk, a crown of woven barley askew on his head. Beside him, Konal rumbled with laughter before tossing back ale from a golden goblet.

But a roar from the central long table quickly diverted her attention.

Hekla’s scowl only deepened. Eyvind Hakonsson’s arm was wrapped around Thrand Long Sword’s shoulder, the pair’s eyes closed as they swayed and sung a bawdy tune.

Tonight, the top and sides of Eyvind’s hair were coiled into tight tracks, woven into a set of larger braids spilling down his back and around his shoulders.

She caught sight of the pair across from Eyvind and blinked. Onund Ale Drinker danced with Alf the Slender, who seemed to be wearing an apron dress.

What in the eternal fucking fires was going on here?

The song ended, Alf the Slender taking a bow as those around him erupted in cheers and whistles.

“A rematch!” he bellowed, climbing back onto the bench. Across the table, Eyvind was already throwing his braids over his shoulder, positioning his elbow to arm wrestle Alf. A barmaid slunk up behind Eyvind, slender fingers massaging his shoulders as she bent low and whispered in his ear.

As though sensing an impending storm, Sigrún tugged on Hekla’s sleeve, then signed, I’ll find us a seat while you talk to Hakonsson .

Hekla nodded and fought her way through the mass of bodies before she could think twice.

The moment Eyvind caught sight of Hekla, he shot to his feet, his expression morphing from dazedly drunk to enraged. Eyvind stormed toward her, shoving a drunken warrior out of his way.

He was angry at her ? Hekla’s hand curled into a fist.

But a large body collided with hers from the left.

Had she been of sound mind, Hekla would have sensed it coming and would have easily dodged it.

But the fever’s lingering effects had left her off-kilter, and she staggered sideways.

Suddenly Eyvind was beside her, one arm slipped around her waist, the other deflecting the bulk of the warrior’s momentum.

“Your bed calls to you, Bersi Hairy Cheeks,” Eyvind told the culprit.

After mumbling a nearly incoherent apology, the man—whom Hekla did not recognize—stumbled toward the mead hall’s doorway.

“How is it that you already know the names of each resident of this gods-forsaken place?” Hekla grumbled, shaking herself loose from Eyvind.

The mischievous glint she was used to seeing in Eyvind’s eyes was nowhere to be seen. “What are you doing out of bed?” he demanded .

“I-what?” Hekla blinked, taken aback at how legible his words were. A moment ago, she’d thought him drunk, but now it was clear he was completely sober. “I’m fine , Hakonsson.”

“You need to rest. You almost died . It’s a miracle you’re even alive?—”

“’Twas only a fever.”

“It wasn’t a fever , you infernal woman, it was that bloody gods-damned mist.” Eyvind glanced over his shoulder.

“I cannot have Loftur dissecting our every word from across the hall.” Guiding her by her prosthetic’s elbow, he directed them to the back exit of the mead hall and into the alcove linking the hall to the inn.

It took Hekla’s eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, but when they did, she was keenly aware of how small the space was. “Have you investigated the staves?”

She could feel his glare despite the darkness. “Rushing into those woods all by yourself?” he said, ignoring her question altogether. “Why would you do such a thing? I do not understand why you would risk yourself so recklessly!”

Her brows snapped together. Did the man understand nothing of what this job meant?

“You look better,” he continued, his voice softening. “Your cheeks have some color to them. But I see you’re not quite steady on your feet yet. Did you drink the tea the healer left?”

Hekla blinked at the sudden change in direction. “Staves, Hakonsson. Focus. Have you followed the Spiral Staves?”

Eyvind opened his mouth, then closed it.

“I gather that’s a no. Never mind it. You can continue to cavort about, while Sigrún, Gunnar and I?—”

“You will not go back in those woods.” Eyvind raked a hand down his face. It was a boyish gesture, one that, much to her chagrin, dampened Hekla’s anger just a touch. “I cannot have you defying my orders. Our duty is to complete this job while honoring Loftur’s?—”

“Our duty is to the people of Istré.”

“Precisely! And it’s a miracle I was able to keep your insolent act from Loftur.

Next time, I mightn’t be so fortunate. But Konal and some of my warriors.

..” Eyvind laughed, though it was far from amused.

“Your defiance weakens me in my men’s eyes.

If it were anyone else, they’d be cast out from my retinue. ”

Hekla folded her arms over her chest, daring him to say what he was dancing around.

“But as a favor to you,” Eyvind continued, “I’ll allow you a second chance.”

The laugh that fell from her was far from amused. “A second chance,” she repeated numbly. Of all the words he might have chosen...

“Hekla,” Eyvind whispered, his hand sliding behind her left elbow in a move that seemed meant to steady her. For a moment, Hekla forgot. Swayed toward him. Then her senses swarmed back, and she yanked her arm free.

Eyvind blinked, as though he, too, had forgotten. He cleared his throat, but when he next spoke, his voice was still a little rough. “I can only give you one more chance, Hekla. If you disobey me again, I’ll have you carted back to Kopa.”

Her former husband’s voice invaded her mind, his words still fresh despite the years gone by.

I’ll cart you back to the house. Cuff you to the post. Then you’ll learn not to disobey your husband.

Hekla’s anger erupted like hot lava, eager to scorch and destroy. She pushed off the wall. Brought her face level with Eyvind’s. “Try to cart me anywhere, golden boy, and I’ll tear the guts from your body.”

And with that, she spun on her heel. Ignoring the stars dancing in her vision, Hekla stormed back into the mead hall in search of Sigrún.