“I jest,” said Egil. “I see a dunking has not improved your humor. She will be glad to see you. I don’t think she much liked the prospect of—she will be glad to see you. She is here, with all my sisters. You should come have dinner with us tonight.”
They spoke of Egil’s journey home, how his family fared, and finding that Egil did not mean to raise the subject, Ragnvald burst out, “What did you think—on the ship?”
Egil plucked a blade of wild barley and flicked seeds off it with his thumb. “I thought Solvi was killing you. And I thought everyone on that ship had more loyalty to him than to you.”
“Yes,” said Ragnvald thickly, feeling an echo of that moment, the fear and helplessness. “I suppose they did.”
Egil looked at Ragnvald, meeting his eyes. “They held me,” he said. “Solvi’s men, Ulfarr and . . .”
As he trailed off, he looked away, over the assembly grounds. Ragnvald turned to study him. Egil wore a fine festival tunic, and a silver belt buckle that looked like something they had won in Ireland together. A clasp fastened his cloak that might be the twin to Ragnvald’s but was not out of place on his richer clothes. Egil came to his feet and brushed himself off.
“I would have done something if I could. The gods helped you better than I could have.”
Ragnvald stood and clasped Egil’s shoulder. “You can still help me,” he said. “I plan to accuse Solvi. Will you stand as my witness?”
Egil took Ragnvald’s arm, pulling it gently off him. “Come, let’s tell my sister the good news. She didn’t want to find another husband.”
“Egil,” said Ragnvald. Egil seemed to be slipping away from him again.
“Ragnvald,” said Egil, voice pleading. “I would—I will—we should speak with my father. He will have good advice for you. For both of us.” He turned, and said brightly. “See, my sister is coming this way.”
Ragnvald looked. “She is not.”
“Then you should come with me.” Egil turned. Ragnvald walked behind him. Egil moved like a crane, his head floating above his body, his neck thin enough that a sword could sever it easily. Ragnvald shook his head to dispel the thought. Egil was a friend. Such passing fancies displeased the gods; they might turn it to truth.
Ragnvald tried once more. “Egil, you must—”
Egil turned and smiled desperately at him. “Solvi is powerful,” he said in a strangled voice. “Trials are not for three days yet, after the feasting and contests. Let us talk with Father.”
“You do not need his permission,” said Ragnvald.
“I need his advice, Ragnvald. Leave it be.” He slung an arm over Ragnvald’s shoulder and walked him toward Hrolf’s open-sided canopy. Ragnvald grew tense under the familiar gesture. They had been fast friends on the journey to and from Scotland—men grew close sharing a sleeping bag on board the ship—but this rang false.
“Wait,” said Ragnvald. “I don’t want your sister to see me like this.” He gestured at the bandage on his cheek. He had not thought of it much over the days with Adisa, and it seemed as though the wound had closed, at least, when he probed the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He scraped off the edges of the bandage that he had adhered with pine pitch from the household stores at Adisa’s farm. The air felt strange on skin that had been covered for a few days.
“How does it look?” Ragnvald asked.
Egil looked slightly ill when he darted his eyes to Ragnvald’s face. Ragnvald put his hand to it. He did not have enough beard to cover the scar.
“That bad?” Ragnvald asked.
“No,” said Egil. “It only shocked me. When it heals, it will suit you. You look fierce.”
Ragnvald half smiled at that, until his fear at the wound pulling open before he saw Hilda made him control his expression. They walked toward the tent, Egil a half step ahead.
“Hilda, I’ve brought something for you,” Egil called out. Hilda put her head around the flap, scowling.
“Egil, I’m—” Then she saw Ragnvald and her mouth dropped open. She rushed out of the tent, toward Ragnvald, then came to a stop. Her hand hovered just above Ragnvald’s arm. They were not yet even formally betrothed, only promised, and should not publicly embrace—yet that might feel less improper than this. His skin tingled where he felt the warmth from her palm. He felt bashful of looking directly at her and flushed, trying not to smile like a fool.
“You’re—,” she began.
“I’m alive,” he said, now letting himself smile as fully as he dared.
She wore the same embarrassed grin for a moment and then scowled again, this time at her brother. “Egil, you told me he was dead.”
Egil looked between them. “I should . . . I’m sure you want to . . .” He gave a small smile, before ducking into the tent.
She was very handsome, with her long auburn hair left loose and free. She had the strong hooked nose that had given her father his byname, Hrolf Nefia—Hrolf the Nose—and she wore it well. Her expression tended to sullen, but that made her smiles all the more precious. Ragnvald hesitated for a moment. Strict propriety said her father could object if they talked alone, but with all the gathered families of Sogn for a witness, who could mind? No one had cared when they were children.
Anyway, festival times brought license, even pregnancies sometimes, out of season, and hasty marriages afterward. Ragnvald’s face heated. He had remembered Hilda’s height, but forgotten that it meant she stood face to face with him, her eyes shining. Here was the welcome he sought. Hilda was pleased to see him.
“I am alive,” he said. He pulled her hand up to his cheek to trace the path of Solvi’s knife. Her fingers were warm on his wind-chapped skin. Her brows drew together as she touched his face. He did not breathe—he had only meant to show her, to have an excuse to touch her, and it had turned into something that made him feel strangely vulnerable.
“Yes,” said Hilda, breaking the spell. She looked down as she pulled her hand away, though she let him continue clasping it, her fingers curled in his palm. “Egil said—he said he wasn’t sure. So I still hoped.” She cast her eyes down. “And made sacrifices to Ran, that she would not take you,” she added quietly.
Ragnvald felt pleased and embarrassed that someone should have been thinking of him that way. “It worked,” he said.
Hilda’s mother, Bergdis, put her head out of their family’s booth. She gave Ragnvald a dubious glance, then sighed. “Hilda, come. Everyone can see you.”
Hilda smiled at Ragnvald before retreating under the tent flap.
Egil emerged a moment later. He swung his arms back and forth. “See, she was happy to see you.”
“Yes,” said Ragnvald. “Now, let us speak with your father, if we must. Or you can agree now. Be my witness. You saw Solvi try to murder me.”
“I’m sure he’s busy,” said Egil. “Let’s see who else is here.” He started walking toward one of the other tents, leaving Ragnvald either to follow or remain standing alone.
7