“Little sister, you look tired,” Asgaut shouted again. “Has leadership been too difficult for you?”
“Easier than the thought of having to look at your face again,” she called back.
A few of the men around her laughed and she grinned at her brother. But Asgaut didn’t smile back, and he narrowed his eyes at her as the men behind him threw their own ropes to the shore. He could hurl insults all day, but as soon as someone threw one back at him, he would grow sullen and quiet. He was dangerous when he was sullen.
He glared at her as men caught the ropes and hauled their father’s ship up on the rocky beach.
Torunn straightened as the first ship was secured and stepped away from the rope. Asgaut vaulted over the ship’s railing and landed in the water. He fixed her with an icy stare and she could not bring herself to smile.
Hallvard landed in the water next to his brother and grinned at her. “Torunn, you look terrible.”
“Where have you been?” she snapped.
Her brothers took great pleasure in tormenting her any chance they could, but she would pay them back for their insults soon enough. Their father did not abide fighting amongst his children, and Torunn knew that she was his favorite. At least, that was how it had always felt.
“The raid took longer than anticipated,” Asgaut said. “And there was troub—”
Hallvard’s fist thumped into his brother’s chest. “Later, little brother,” he said sharply. “There will be time for talk after I have had a jug of mead and my feet are dry.”
Asgaut flinched and his face twisted as Hallvard pushed him back and walked toward the shore. Torunn was used to their power struggle. They had never worked well together. For twins, they were so dissimilar that Torunn often forgot they had been born only moments apart.
She looked over their shoulders at the warriors who moved around the boat. Large sacks clinked as metal objects shifted inside, and large chests needed to be lifted by several men to move them. A hefty treasure indeed.
“Where is father.”
It was not a question anymore. It was a demand. She glared at her brother, but Asgaut only smiled. She couldn’t tell if the expression was supposed to be reassuring or threatening, but whatever it was, she didn’t like it.
“We need to talk,” he said.
He slung an arm over Torunn’s shoulder and turned her away from the boat, but she pushed him away.
“Answer me!”
Her shout echoed over the noise of the people and a few eyes turned to them.
Hallvard was on the beach. He stood in front of Iri with his arms crossed over his chest while her father’s advisor spoke fervently and gestured with his hands. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
“Why are you wearing father’s gauntlets.” Her voice shook as she noticed her brother’s armor. He never wore gauntlets. But these ones… she knew them very well.
Asgaut looked down at his forearms in surprise, but his reaction seemed false, and his smile had not wavered. “I took these off a nobleman,” he said. “He died crying to his false god to save him. Little good it did him.”
“You’re a liar,” Torunn snarled. She grabbed for her brother’s wrist and pulled him toward her so that she could see the gauntlet better. Asgaut stumbled in the water and let out a grunt of surprise.
“Let me go!”
“Shut your mouth.”
She gripped him hard as she looked at the gauntlets. The color of the leather was the same, the etching—a depiction of the Fenris wolf eating the moon—was the same. These were her father’s gauntlets. She remembered countless nights when she would lean against her father’s side as he sat by the fire and trace her fingers over the etchings while demanding that he tell her the story of Ragnarok over, and over again. The images were carved in her mind just as surely as they were embedded in the leather.
Asgaut pulled his arm out of her grip and glared at her. “Have you gone mad? These are not father’s gauntlets.”
Torunn shook her head and glared back. Her hand fell onto the hilt of her knife and Asgaut’s eyes widened slightly. “Liar,” she whispered. “Where is father?”
Asgaut turned toward the shore and took a step back. “Hallvard!”
Torunn couldn’t feel the coldness of the water around her legs, or the stones beneath her boots, she could only feel the weight of the truth. She knew the answer to her question. But she needed to hear her brothers speak it aloud.
Hallvard strode down the beach and into the water. He caught Asgaut as he stumbled and pushed him back toward the shore with a look of disgust upon his face.
“Tell me,” Torunn choked out.
“What do you want to hear, Torunn?” Hallvard challenged her.
“The truth. Where is father.”
Hallvard’s pale eyes narrowed. “Jarl Reinnsson fell in battle. His last wish was to be burned on the shores of his beloved home.”
Torunn’s knees buckled, but she caught herself before she fell. “Hallvard… Where…”
He gestured at the boat and she saw three men lift a litter that had been wrapped in canvas and covered with bearskins. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to keep from screaming as she realized what she had seen.
She grabbed for her brother’s tunic, but he brushed her hand away. “You will address me properly,” he said stiffly. “I am Jarl now, and you will learn your place in my house.”
Torunn glared up at her brother and flinched as he smiled at her. “This is a poor welcome, sister, I had expected better of you.”
He turned away and strode back to the shore, leaving her to stand alone in the frigid water beside the boat that had carried her father’s corpse across the sea.
7
Seething with rage, guilt, anguish, and something that tasted like fear, Torunn strode through the village toward the long hall that her father had built to celebrate his victories far away from Skaro.
Shouts, drums, and raucous music filled the air and she could smell cooking meat and spilled mead. Her stomach rumbled, but the thought of eating anything made her feel sick. Grey smoke poured through the hole in the roof and stood out against the clear icy blue of the sky above; at least the fire had been lit in time. It would be roaring now, and she was bitterly cold and couldn’t feel her toes. She should have gone back to her father’s house to change her clothes, but there were more important things at stake.
She needed answers, but getting what she wanted out of her brothers wouldn’t be easy.
Iri nodded to her as she stepped into the hall. A cup of mead was pushed into her hand and she was jostled through the crowd as she pushed her way to the center of the room where the great fire had been lit. The heat of it rushed over her cheeks and she closed her eyes for just a moment to let it seep into her skin.
“Torunn! There you are! We thought you had gone for a swim!”
Hallvard’s mocking laughter echoed in her ears and she opened her eyes to glare at him.
“You’re sitting in Father’s chair,” she said.
“I cannot hear you,” Hallvard cried out. He was sitting in their father’s chair. The Jarl’s great throne, brought indoors… the same one she had used to oversee the petitions of the people in his absence. Why had they brought it inside? Their father had never wanted to be elevated above his people… But Hallvard was not their father.