“You're disgusting,” she had said, unwinding Sibba from her layers of furs and making her intentions obvious.
Sibba had wanted to push her away, not wanting Estrid's hands or eyes on her, not wanting to relive the shame. How could Estrid act like she had forgotten? Maybe she had. Maybe twelve-year-old Sibba's declaration of undying love hadn't been as big a deal for Estrid as it had been for Sibba. As beautiful as she was, maybe she got that a lot. It had just been another day for her.
But of course Sibba only stood placidly shivering as Estrid had removed Sibba's clothes and weapon belts, and then ran lithe fingers through her short, tangled hair. It was with relief that she waded into the water, going as fast as she dared even when the cold threatened to steal the breath from her lungs. The farther she went, the higher the water crept until she let herself fall beneath the surface.
When she thought her chest might explode, she emerged from the water's depths, brushing water and hair back from her face. She turned to the shore, where Estrid still stood bundled in furs, a hunk of her foul-smelling lye soap in her hand. Aeris, who had not yet decided whether or not to trust the girl, hovered in the highest branches of a nearby tree. Sibba wasn't entirely sure Estrid had even noticed the bird yet.
“Where's Ari?” Sibba called back to her. Had they left him at the trial circle to celebrate with the men or had he slunk away in shame? A part of her that she tried to ignore felt a tiny bit of triumph that Estrid was with her and not him, wherever he was. Either way, it was probably for the best that he wasn’t here. Sibba was furious with him, blaming him for putting her in the position to have to come to his rescue.
Estrid shrugged, the motion only just visible beneath her cloak, the fur collar already coming up to her ears. Her cheeks and lips were red with cold, and her bright eyes glistened with moisture. “Recovering, I suppose.”
“Hiding, more like,” Sibba retorted. She held her hands above the water and Estrid tossed the soap. It landed just short of reach, hitting the lake with a plop and sinking. She reached down into the dark water until her fingers wrapped around the slimy ball. “What were you two thinking?”
Instead of answering, Estrid looked away, and the dismissal sparked something in Sibba. She had killed Vyion for Estrid. Taken a life for her. Estrid owed her. The good part of her didn't want to hold it against Estrid, but her good side was fading fast. The other part of Sibba, the dark side, wanted something in return.
Sibba pressed her lips together and instead focused on washing, her breathing shallow so the smell didn’t burn her throat. She scrubbed the rough soap against her skin until it was pink. Even then, she still felt the death of the two men on her, smelled their blood beneath her fingernails. The darkness behind her eyes was full of sensations she longed to forget—the feel of an ax slicing through flesh, warm drops of blood splattering her cheeks, the sweep of a dead man's last breath against her lips.
“We weren't thinking,” Estrid finally answered when the silence had stretched taut between them. “We just— It was just— It just happened. I didn’t love Vyion.”
Five years ago, after an impassioned and unfortunately public speech about how she felt about Estrid, Sibba had leaned in to steal a kiss from those unnaturally red lips, and Estrid had turned away. Estrid had made it quite clear that she had no such romantic intentions toward Sibba. That they were just friends, nothing more. Like sisters, Estrid had told her, trying to let her down gently. The next day, she had caught her with Ari at the riverbank, kissing and giggling. Laughing about her. That was when Sibba had built a wall around her heart; she stood on one side, Ari and Estrid and everyone else on the other.
“You just married him to prove that you could? One more notch on your belt.” Sibba felt bad as soon as she said it and occupied herself with rinsing the soap off her shoulders.
“That wasn’t kind, Sibba.”
Sibba looked up. Estrid’s pretty mouth was twisted into a frown, her lips trembling. “A kind person wouldn’t have killed your husband for you. Would you rather I be kind?”
“Have you changed so much? You’re just like everyone else now? Judging me before I even get a chance to speak?”
They were yelling back and forth across the water, their voices echoing in the stillness. “You could have married Ari instead.” Or me, Sibba dared not add.
“I couldn’t have! Your father arranged the match to keep Vyion happy. What could I do about it?” Estrid clapped her hands to her face and sank to sit on a log at the water’s edge.
Wading to the edge of the lake, Sibba squeezed the water from her hair and swiped her hands down her torso, flinging away the droplets, trying and failing not to look at Estrid. She had done it again—pike by pike, the wall was coming back up. When she was nearly at the shore, there was a rustling in the nearby trees, the cracking of a branch. Estrid's head whipped in the direction of the sound, but Sibba froze.
“Who's there?” Estrid shouted, standing. She was understandably nervous. Just hours ago, she had expected to be dead and hanging in the sutvithr tree by now.
To make it worse, there was no response, only Aeris moving overhead, inching down the branch toward the girls. If it were someone out foraging or coming to bathe, surely they would show themselves, or announce their presence. It was the silence that got to Sibba. She was so tired—tired of fighting, tired of killing. Part of her almost gave up, but the other part of her lunged to the shore, fighting her way through the waist-high water.
“The ax,” she said, trying not to be too loud. Estrid looked at her but didn't move, her eyes wide with fear. Sibba couldn't help but remember Darcey, glassy-eyed on the ground. She would not let that happen again, no matter what it took, no matter how high the wall. “The ax,” Sibba said again.
Someone was close, creeping through the brush. Another branch cracked as Sibba fell on the ax, her fingers wrapping around the hilt. She spun to gain momentum, her feet scraping the rocky shore, and threw the weapon toward the sound.
In retrospect, she knew she shouldn't have done that. They had left the sword at Estrid's longhouse, bringing only the ax out of habit. A blind throw could have lost her their only weapon, leaving them defenseless against an unknown enemy. The ax flipped end over end until it struck the trunk of a tree, lodging firmly into the bark beside a stunned face covered with a bright orange beard.
“Ari!” Estrid shouted.
Sibba fell to her knees and clutched a fistful of the small rocks beneath her. Ari emerged onto the shore, wearing a brown tunic, matching pants, and soft leather boots. No wonder he had blended in with the winter trees.