“Yes,” Ragnvald replied. “And a renewed alliance between Hakon and Harald, an alliance that will only hurt your Solvi.” He watched to see how she would react. Her face crumpled. She withdrew her fingers from his.
“No matter where I go,” she said, “I hurt someone.”
“How did you come to leave Hrolf’s farm, truly?” he asked.
She told him, haltingly, of Thorkell’s coming, of feeling trapped. Then she told him too of being at sea with Solvi, and her voice grew clear. “Solvi must already know this,” she said, finally. “He must know that by allowing Hakon to come to Harald, so that I might be traded for Heming, he might cause their alliance to be restored. What can I do, rather than go to him?” She scrubbed her hands over her face to wipe away tears, and looked up at Ragnvald. “I do not want to make an alliance that hurts him. He is my husband.” She put her hand on his arm. “Take me away from here, brother. Bring me to Solvi. Without this trade. Come with us. You do not want to bind your life to Harald’s ambition. Follow your own ambition.”
Ragnvald turned away from her. It was one path. He could break his promises, and leave Harald with Hakon his enemy again. He remembered what Ronhild had said he would sacrifice for Harald. Here was one thing, a first precious thing.
“He is my ambition,” he said.
“You have not yet sworn to him. You are free.”
“No one is free. I have not yet sworn, but I will.”
“You said you’d care for me when our father died, and you did. You used to. What now?” The words stung less than he thought they would. They were Svanhild’s last weapon. Ragnvald stood and rubbed at the scar on his face.
“You made your choice, Svanhild. If you wanted to stay here, to abandon Solvi, I would try to help you in that, but I will not help Solvi. Do you wish to stay, or go to him?”
She only hesitated for a moment. “I want to go.”
*
Svanhild looked peaceful as Ragnvald helped her onto the ship. How could Solvi have driven this much of a wedge between them? She was his Svanhild, the best and most charming of sisters, the bravest. And now the most wrong. She could be a king’s wife, and she would rather be Solvi’s.
They found Solvi with a few ships, beyond the bend in the fjord. When Solvi saw Svanhild, Ragnvald almost understood. Solvi was the most accomplished liar Ragnvald knew, lying not only with words but with every movement he made, every expression. Even his eyes could glance with lying intent. But he could not mask his love for Svanhild—or at least his desire for her and the child she carried.
“Ragnvald Eysteinsson,” said Solvi when he helped Svanhild step across from one ship to the other. The weather had turned warmer. Trees dripped bits of snow into the fjord. “You said no one could turn Svanhild’s mind but herself. I have seen that you are right.”
“She loves you,” Ragnvald said, pushing her at him ungraciously. “I cannot think why.” Solvi gave him a smug smile. “Svanhild, no matter what, you will always have a place with me. Your child too. You do not need to go with him now. I will find a way . . .”
“I want this, brother.” Svanhild moved lightly, even weighed down by her pregnancy, with the sort of step that sailors of long experience had, the knowledge that the ground beneath her foot might give way at any time. It would, too, with Solvi.
“You want to be shackled to an outlaw, a man with no land, no country.”
Svanhild raised her chin. “The sea is our country. Our land is any shore on which we rest. How much better is that than the chains you bind yourself with, to land, to king?”
Ragnvald shook his head. He did not want to envy her, her body taken over by Solvi’s seed—that was her binding, and a stronger binding even than any oath Ragnvald would swear to Harald. No, he did not envy her anything except her certainty. He had believed that she would never love someone more than him; even when she was married, it would be to a man Ragnvald chose, and so bind her to him closer, not separate them.
Hakon made a rude noise. “Solvi Hunthiofsson, you promised me my son in this trade. You and your wife can pretend to be heroes of some ancient song later.”
Svanhild’s face went red. Solvi merely shrugged. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply. A few minutes later, men rowed a small boat over to the two ships. Within, Heming’s fair hair showed above a gag. His head lolled forward, and the guard behind him pulled him back from toppling over. He was not well.
“You may keep the boat as well as the hostage,” said Solvi. “My thanks for returning my wife.”
“You probably stole it from some Vestfold fisherman,” said Ragnvald.
Solvi grinned. “I did.” Harald’s men took possession of the boat. “Are we done now?”
“No,” said Harald. “You are outlawed, Solvi Hunthiofsson. I call upon the gods to witness this. Your father is dead. Your lands are forfeit. Any man who sees you may kill you without penalty. Indeed, should he come to my court with your head, I will reward him.”
Solvi looked white for a moment—no man could think lightly of exile and outlawry, not even Solvi Hunthiofsson—and then he grinned again. “I never wanted to be king,” he said. “Come, Svanhild.” She crossed the last few steps to him and stood next to him, clasping his hand, as though it did not matter to her that Harald had declared it the duty of Ragnvald and every free man to kill her husband on sight. She might never see Ragnvald again, and she did not even appear to care.
Harald’s party returned to his ship. Ragnvald watched as Solvi’s ships receded into the distance. Svanhild looked back. She waved good-bye, a flash of white wrist, as Solvi’s men raised his sail.
Harald stood by Ragnvald’s side. “We will pay and pay again for this alliance with Hakon,” he said, hardly above a whisper, too quiet for Hakon to hear him where he stood at the prow. “I wonder when it will be too much. You have sacrificed greatly. Never has a man served me as well as you. I wish you to be by my side for the rest of both of our days, and I wish to reward you as you see fit.”
“You sent me away,” said Ragnvald. It still rankled.
“If I ever do that again, you may laugh in my face.” Harald spoke louder now. “I call all men present to witness this. You will be first among my captains and advisers, saving only my uncle Guthorm. No man has ever been a truer friend than you.” The men on board the ship applauded, all except Hakon himself. “You have told me that your grandfather was king of Sogn,” Harald continued, “and his fathers and forefathers before him. So you must be king—my king, now. It is spring, the seas are open. We will go to Sogn, and claim a kingdom for you.”
“Thank you, King Harald. You do me great honor.”
“Do not thank me,” Harald said. “It is no more than your due. It is I who should thank you.”