“Yes,” said Solvi. “What do you need?” He ran his hand over her swelling belly. She half wanted to pull away from the touch, feeling a surge of protectiveness over this new life—she would protect it even from Solvi. Even from Ragnvald. She would protect her child from anyone, for he was hers. “I would not have you risk our child to feed grown men who should know better.”
Svanhild smiled at his words, as he surely meant her to. “I do need help,” she said. “Perhaps there are some local girls who would like to spend some time at the hall. Surely some nearby family has more daughters than they need.” That thought reminded her of Hilda—Hilda who waited and dreamed of Ragnvald. Now Svanhild would help Solvi take away that dream. She sighed. “I work so I need not think of the spring,” said Svanhild. She put her hand over his to still his touching. Her blood beat against his fingers, and against her womb.
“You will have the best care,” said Solvi. “I promise. You will come through this childbed and live to give me many more children. You are strong.” Svanhild had never doubted that. Solvi must be voicing his own fears.
“I fear for Ragnvald,” she said. Solvi tried to pull his hand away, and she held it fast. One of the kitchen thralls was staring at the two of them. “Leave us,” said Svanhild to her.
“You should fear for me,” said Solvi when they were alone.
“You have no brothers,” Svanhild answered. “If you did, you would know. If I lost him, it would be as if I lost a part of myself. And you go to fight him.” It was true, but more true was that her growing care for this child, for Solvi, made her feel guilty. She should think of Ragnvald more.
“Yes,” said Solvi. He pulled his hand away then. “This will always be the sword between us. Ragnvald has chosen. You have chosen.”
“He does not want revenge on you.”
“How can you be sure of that? I stole his sister. I cut his face.” So he had been thinking of it too. What did it mean to him, that Ragnvald had risen so far since Solvi had tried to end his life? Did he fear Ragnvald? He knew a part of Ragnvald that Svanhild never would. The warrior, the leader, even.
“I know,” she said. “Still, if you face him . . . do something for me, in the name of the child I bear for you.” His expression was stricken. She knew she could only use the child thus once. “Do not kill him. If you can. If he is not trying to kill you. If you can capture him, if you can separate him from Harald. I have only one brother. I have no father. I have my brother, you, and this child.”
“Svanhild,” said Solvi. “You do not know what you ask. We are enemies. I do not wish it so, but it is both of our fates. You must see that. The fates have set us on this path as surely as they set you between us.”
“Promise me,” said Svanhild. “I do not ask you to put yourself in danger for it, but if there is a way to take him as a prisoner in this battle rather than killing him, please try.” Solvi did not answer, and Svanhild continued, hoping that with enough words, she could make him see this way through, this thread through the needle. “Harald values him. He would make a good hostage. You do not know how the battle will go. It might be useful to have a bargaining chip.”
Solvi was silent for a while, and Svanhild had no more arguments to make. Finally he met her eyes. “If I promise you this, will you let yourself rest? Will you stop your worrying?”
“A thousand things can happen in a battle,” said Svanhild. “I know this. I know too that I have chosen you. It was a choice that cost me dearly, and will cost me more in the future. Do not seek to add to the price, I beg you.”
“Do not beg of me, Svanhild.” He took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “I do not want that of you. I promise you that if I can find a way to let Ragnvald survive this battle, I will. I will tell all my men. Punishment will fall on the man who tries to kill him, and rewards on the man who captures him. Will that serve?”
“Yes,” she said. “That is all I can ask.”
“Yes,” said Solvi, his voice letting her know that he already thought it was too much, that this burden oppressed him deeply. “If there is even a battle, if my allies come. Who knows what the spring will bring?”
31
As the days grew longer, Ragnvald started to feel like a spring bear, too long kept inside—though he was hungry for vengeance, for action, not food. He was too well fed. They all were, with little else to do save eating and drinking. At least he was stronger from all the sparring with Harald, and the training that Harald’s uncle had devised for him, and adapted to all of his men. They carried heavy stones, raced up steep slopes, faced down poor weather, at least until the cold became dangerous to their fingers. But Ragnvald ate and drank heavily too, spent late nights gambling. He was tired of the same faces, tired of the inside of halls, tired of the stench of too many men who did not bathe frequently enough.
Tensions had grown between Hakon’s men and Harald’s since Yule. Ragnvald and Oddi still traveled between the two halls, but Hakon rarely did, nor did his trueborn sons. Ragnvald did not know whether Hakon still meant to honor his promise and send Ragnvald to revenge himself on Olaf. He must be gone and discharge that task quickly to return in time for spring warring.
Rumors came with spring, along with wet, sodden snows. Solvi was dead. Solvi had fled to the protection of the Danish king. Solvi had mobilized all the kings of Norway against Harald, even Hakon and his sons. That, Ragnvald knew was false, yet it was continually repeated around the halls, carried between the two factions.
He and Harald climbed the hills above the hall on an unexpectedly clear day. Ragnvald had to scramble to keep up, pulling himself along on tree branches.
“What do I do?” Harald asked Ragnvald, frustrated. A fight had broken out the night before between one of Harald’s men and Hakon’s. Harald had let them wrestle it out, encouraged other men to make bets, praised the winner and the loser for their technique. “I cannot turn them all into contests.”
“What does your uncle say?” Ragnvald asked as he fended off a branch that Harald let snap into his face.
Harald stopped, looking impatient for Ragnvald to catch up. “He says I should wait for the snows to stop, then go to war again. War against someone else will heal our divisions.”
“Or at least disguise them for a while,” said Ragnvald. “Your uncle is right. Fine weather and making war will help.”
Oddi came running up to them, out of breath. Oddi had been pulled between Harald and Hakon worse than Ragnvald had, though he had a sixth sense for when some argument was about to break out, and would suddenly disappear. Ragnvald wished he had that ability himself. It must come from long years with Hakon’s sons.
“What is it?” Ragnvald asked.