“Oh no,” Tola said with a mirthless laugh. “It wouldn’t be that easy, would it? No, Jarl Silentarm pleased the chief when he brought her a valuable treasure from a recent battle. His loyalty has won him a great prize. His daughter will marry Chief Grimsson’s nephew, and I am her wedding gift.”
Evenon, who was also walking along the muddy road, spoke up. “So she gets rid of you and she buys herself the loyalty of an outlying port village.”
“Precisely,” Tola said, turning her blazing green eyes on Evenon, who met her gaze unwaveringly. Sibba remembered what he’d said about proving himself to his princess. It seemed like perhaps he had some knowledge about the way of politics.
A girl younger than Sibba greeted them at the gate, her long, yellow hair bound in intricate knots, and her sky blue eyes blazing.
“Where have you been?” she snapped at Tola. Aeris leaped from Tola's shoulder and soared to the top of a nearby post, her head twitching as she watched the spectacle below. The girl startled and took a minuscule step back before recovering herself.
Tola, at least a head taller than her, looked down her nose at the young girl. “Vala secrets,” she said, her voice cool instead of teasing as it had been when she’d told Estrid the same thing. “What a vala does the night before her gifting is no one’s concern.”
The girl’s pale cheeks pinkened, but a boy appeared behind her, a hand on her shoulder. “Now, Jorunn,” he said, his voice calm and even. “Let Tola pass. She’ll need to prepare for the ceremony. There will be time to lay down ground rules later.” He was short but broad, and exuded confidence that made the girl, Jorunn, shrink beneath his scrutiny. Then he turned to Sibba’s group, looking each of them over in turn until his eyes settled on Evenon. “She’s never had a vala, you see. It’s a learning process.”
Evenon grunted in eloquent response. The fingers of his right hand stroked a goose-feather fletching on an arrow at his hip and Sibba worried he would draw it on the boy just to get him to shut up.
The boy wasn’t giving up. He held out a chubby hand. “Torsten Windkeep, nephew to our venerable Chief Isgerd Grimsson,”
It was Estrid who stepped up when Evenon did little more than stare at the outstretched hand. She slipped her pale fingers into his and dipped into a small curtsy. “Estrid Fogthorn,” she said, “and these are my companions.” She didn’t introduce them by name. Using Sibba’s name here would certainly condemn her to the same fate as her brother, so it was best to remain quiet.
“Are you here for the wedding?” Torsten asked.
“Yes,” Estrid said without hesitation. “We were waylaid by the storm last night. Our supplies were…” She let her voice trail off suggestively as she looked up at him from beneath her lashes. His bride was already boring of the conversation, her attention drifting, and it was a good thing. Estrid was laying it on thick. Torsten stared blankly for a second before understanding crossed his face.
“Oh!” He held out an arm to Estrid, beckoning her forward. “You’ll be needing fresh clothes and somewhere to rest. Please, follow me.” Estrid stepped easily into his arm while Sibba and Evenon trailed behind, Tola between them. They watched as Estrid slipped a hand around Jorunn’s skinny arm and pulled her along with them. The girl looked as startled as Torsten, but just as taken, because she scurried along in Estrid’s grip.
Evenon grunted.
“There she is,” Tola said in a voice barely above a whisper. “Jorunn Silentarm, my future mistress.” The words carried a bitter weight. Her entire face had changed, seeming to grow heavy and dark. This was not the same girl she had met on the beach with wild hair and arms stretched out to the storm. This was a caged animal.
“You don’t have to stay,” Sibba said on impulse. Evenon grunted again, but Sibba couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or surprise.
Aeris floated down from her perch and landed on Tola's shoulder. To her credit, Tola did not flinch. As if without thinking, she raised a hand to and stroked the bird's beak. “She will be married this evening. Tomorrow, I will belong to her. It is my fate, woven by Interis. There is nothing else for me except exile if I do not do my duty as a vala.”
“You could come with us,” Sibba said.
Evenon didn’t grunt this time. Instead, he stopped in his tracks, watching Sibba with incredulity, his mouth gaping open. Tola and Sibba halted a few feet ahead of him while Estrid and her new friends continued on toward the longhouse. “Are you mad?” he asked. As if to punctuate his point, a woman in iron armor stalked past with clanking steps. The trio moved to the side.
“He’s right,” Tola said. “I should go.” Jorunn was turning back to look for her, her eyes searching the street. Before she was seen, Tola reached out a long-fingered hand and squeezed Sibba’s fingers.
No, you shouldn’t, Sibba wanted to say, but the girl was already gone, her staff leaving small divots in the mud beside her footprints as if she were a strange, three-legged creature. Estrid, who was making her way back to them, passed her with a jovial smile, seemingly unaware that anything was amiss. When Sibba looked away, Evenon was staring at her.
“What?” Sibba snapped.
“Be careful,” he said. “It isn’t wise to kiss a wielder.”
“Who said anything about kissing?” A blush was crawling up Sibba’s neck no matter how she tried to master her features. “And what’s a wielder, anyhow?”
Evenon didn’t have a chance to respond. Estrid appeared in front of them and took their hands to pull them forward. “I found us a bath and a wardrobe, and this afternoon, we’re going to a party.” They stumbled along unresisting behind Estrid.
“Do you think maybe you can talk them out of some horses next time?” Evenon asked, sideswiping a woman carrying a fur-wrapped bundle that was making a piercing, wailing sound.
Estrid laughed. “Give me a moment with them after they’ve had a couple drinks, and I don’t think it will be an issue.”
“The sooner, the better,” Sibba said as they crossed the threshold into the longhouse where they were greeted with a wall of warm air. Immediately and without her consent, her eyes searched the room for red hair. Her stomach had been in knots ever since watching Tola walk away. It was time to leave before the knots drew themselves tight enough to keep her here.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sibba
Evenon flipped the piece of silver with his thumb. It twirled end over end. Heads, tails, heads, tails—Sibba lost count. He snatched it out of the air and slapped it on the table between them.
“Heads,” Sibba called.
He moved his hand and they both peered down. “Heads it is.” He took a long swig of the spiced mead from the goblet at his side and slammed it on the table, his eyes on Sibba.
She hadn't played Tryggr since she was a child and it had just been a bunch of girls around a hearth fire with mugs of cider giggling about which boys they thought were endearing.