“What will you do with me if I say no?”
His face changed in some way she could not identify, but he said, just as lightly, “You will never be in danger from me.”
“What about my brother? Will you help him, if I”—Svanhild swallowed—“marry with you?”
“I will not seek to harm him. But I will not promise against a fate I do not know, for a man who hates me still.”
“You’re awfully honest,” said Svanhild. “Why? Why not lie?”
Solvi looked surprised. “I don’t know. But you’re right, it is not a lie.” He looked down at her in a way that made her fear and half long for what he might do next, then stood abruptly and went to the door. “Tell me when you decide.”
“Wait,” she said. She meant to do this. “What about Ragnvald? Why did you try to kill him?” When he turned back, she grew flustered again and added, “While you are being so honest.”
“My father and your stepfather cooked that plan up, and they are useless in the kitchen.” He barked out a laugh at his joke and shrugged. “My father wanted allies in Sogn against the coming of Harald. I meant to lose Ragnvald early in the voyage, but he kept being—useful.”
“Ah,” said Svanhild.
“I would not have chosen it. It was a foolish promise for my father to make.”
“And you were willing to be his murderer?”
“My father—” Solvi began. His shoulders rose as he took a deep breath. “My father thought it would be best.”
“You substituted your father’s judgment for your own?”
“I did. I regret it.” He looked down again and slid around to sit next to her on the bench. “Can you forgive me that? I have paid. The matter is settled.”
“It is all I know of you,” she said, her voice rising in a wail. The tears that had threatened all afternoon burned in her eyes, spilling a few drops over.
He took her hand. “That can change.” She jerked it away. Solvi’s mouth grew hard. He stood. “If that is your answer, then, ask Geirny to find you a place to sleep. You need not meet my father.” She had wounded him, and a part of her hurt with it, while another enjoyed his discomfort, her power.
“I am true to my word,” she said, before she could lose her nerve. Solvi was a king’s son, and he had been generous with her. When she said it, a painful tightness in her throat eased.
He nodded gravely. “My father will marry us this evening.”
*
“You said she was beautiful,” said Hunthiof. He sat in a chair carved out of the hall’s main beam, which was formed of a lightning-struck oak, blessed by Odin. Svanhild did not like the look of him, this man who had tried to compass the death of her brother, who had killed Solmund’s friend and servant. His beard was grown in long, for he was no longer a warrior. His brow was strong, his eyes small and deep. One, she realized as she came closer to him, was riven with a scar, and a milky, blind white. The other shone bright like a raptor’s eye.
Svanhild jerked her chin up. “I had no one to attend me, my lord.” She had combed her hair as best she could and plaited it into two braids, but it was still wet, and her part must surely be crooked. She turned to Solvi. “You must bring me women thralls when next you go viking.”
“Oho.” Hunthiof cracked a smile, and Solvi smirked. “I think this will be a better wife to you than Geirny. Fire rather than tears. You will share a cup tonight, and be married.” Hunthiof fixed her with a fearsome glare. “I trust there will be no wailing and carrying on.”
“Not from me,” said Svanhild, standing up straight. “I cannot speak for your men.” Hunthiof furrowed his brows, while Solvi laughed.
Solvi took her arm and led her into the food-serving area again, to wait until Hunthiof had assembled cups and witnesses.
“I do not have a veil,” she said, shy of him again now that they were alone. She would not cry, though Solvi gave her a kind look, and she feared it might crack her resolve to be brave. His crew and Hunthiof’s men waited out in the hall to watch this humiliation. When Ragnvald saw her again, she would be Solvi’s wife. His second wife. How much better would that be, in his eyes, than being his concubine?
“Was my brother’s blood my bride price, truly?” Svanhild asked, trying to keep either tears or anger from her voice.
“No,” said Solvi. “I have chosen a parcel of land. It will be yours, to be inherited by your daughters, if you have any.”
“You would not make me expose them as you did Geirny’s? Do I have your promise on that?”
Solvi looked at her steadily again. “I swear to you. I want nothing to do with the killing of children.” His eyes flickered away. “Even should you have a child that was not mine.”
Svanhild shook her head. She could not think of that now, what it might mean, what it said of Solvi. “Then who killed Geirny’s?”
Solvi looked as though he would rather not say, but finally he pressed Svanhild’s hand. “She said it must be done. She wants a son to rule from Tafjord.”
“And you did not stop her?”
“I was away. She told me she would conceive a son more quickly if—and then the next time, she said the child was sickly. I was away, and she is not strong. Perhaps it was.” The memory seemed to pain him: these children, dead before he could greet them.
“I still do not have a veil,” said Svanhild, still softly, and this time with some gentleness.
Solvi stood and opened one of the cupboards. He pulled out a linen cloth woven so finely that Svanhild could hardly see the threads. It was thickly embroidered on the edges in blue, with threads of gold picking out crosses.
“These are odd hammers of Thor,” said Svanhild.
“They are the crosses of the English sacrificed god. This was the altar cloth of a church. The threads are real gold.”
“An altar cloth?” asked Svanhild. She looked at the fine white cloth. How could it have borne the blood of sacrifices and still be so unblemished?
“They do not make sacrifices, and so their god is weak and cannot protect them.” Solvi grinned wolfishly. “Cannot protect them from me.”
Svanhild smoothed her hair. “Will you . . . ?”
His lips curved slightly. He did not look as though he felt shamed to do this woman’s task for her. Folding the cloth, he put it over her head so she could pull it down to cover her face during the ceremony. She fingered the fabric, which was thick and strong. “I will not be able to see through this,” she said.
Solvi touched her elbow. “I will not let you fall.”
*