He leaned to the side and rested his elbow casually upon the arm of the great chair. A woman Torunn didn’t recognize materialized out of the crowd to stand behind her brother. She had pale hair and dark eyes, and she filled his cup of mead without taking her eyes off Torunn.
“Speak up, Sister,” Hallvard barked.
Torunn flinched at the sound and the noise of celebration died down just a fraction as the people turned curious eyes toward them.
She swallowed thickly and stepped closer to the fire, grateful for its heat on her chest and legs. “Why are you sitting in Father’s chair?” she asked again.
Hallvard laughed and drank deeply from his mead cup and then held it out to be refilled. “Does the answer not seem obvious to you?” he taunted her.
It did seem obvious. But she wanted to hear him say it aloud.
“Enlighten me, Brother,” she choked out. “Father never brought that chair into his hall.”
“Ah, yes, but it is no longer his hall,” Hallvard said sharply. Torunn flinched again as soft laughter rippled through the crowd. “Our father fell in battle, carried away to Valhalla by his wounds…”
Someone nearby spat on the floor and she turned sharply to see who had done it, but the faces around her were unreadable.
“Tomorrow we will burn his body and drink to his memory. Tonight, we shall feast and celebrate a great victory, and a return to glory!”
Torunn’s chest vibrated with the force of the cheers and stomping feet around her and she closed her eyes to hide the tears that sprang up. This was no time to show emotion.
“And who are you now, Brother?” she called out.
The noise died down once more and Torunn dared to open her eyes. Hallvard’s smile was cold, but his eyes were colder.
“I am your Jarl, now,” he said. “And you would do well to remember your place, Sister.”
The emphasis he put on that final word sent a shiver up her spine and Torunn took a swift drink from her cup to calm her roiling stomach.
“We drink to Jarl Hallvard,” someone shouted. More voices took up the cry and Torunn glanced around nervously before taking another drink of her mead. Her brothers had always been dangerous, but now that their father was dead, any protection she might have had—any freedom she had enjoyed—it would all be gone.
The music picked up again and Torunn backed away from the fire. She avoided her brother’s eyes, but she could feel him watching her as she ducked through the crowd.
She drained her cup of mead, wiped a hand across her mouth and threw it down upon a table as she passed. The cold air outside beckoned her—all she wanted was to be away from these people. Away from her brothers… She had to think. She had to make a plan.
She was just about to step out of the hall and into the street when a hand grabbed her tunic and made her stumble on her numb feet.
“Where are you going?”
Asgaut leaned against the doorframe. He held a joint of meat in one hand and wore a strange smile upon his face. He was already drunk, she could see the shine of it in his eyes. She glared at her brother.
“My feet are soaked,” she snapped. “I’m going to change… I’m not fit to be in the Jarl’s presence.”
Asgaut shook his head and took a bite of the meat he held. “So angry, Sister…” he chided her as he chewed. “You know, Father always complained that he would have trouble finding you a husband. I’ve always agreed with him. Impossible to find any man to tolerate that sharp tongue and sneering looks. But I think Hallvard will not have much trouble accomplishing what Father could not. Do you not agree?”
Torunn’s eyes narrowed, but the tang of fear returned. “Father never spoke of a marriage…”
“Ah yes,” Asgaut said thoughtfully. “Perhaps not to you. But fear not, Sister, our brother will have a care for your future.”
Torunn stood frozen in the doorway, she wanted to run and disappear into the woods; she wanted to pull out her knife and drive it up under Asgaut’s chin and smile at him while he died—but she couldn’t do either of those things.
“Hurry back,” Asgaut said. He tilted his chin in dismissal and Torunn gritted her teeth. “The Jarl will be expecting you to be present when the rewards are distributed to our loyal warriors.”
“Of course,” Torunn muttered.
She turned and walked away from the hall as calmly as she could, but as soon as she turned the first corner, she ran on feet that she could not feel all the way to her father’s house.
She skidded to a stop as she approached and saw the doors had been opened wide.
Torunn narrowed her eyes and pulled her knife out of her belt as she crept toward the house. The doors had been closed when she had gone down to the beach—
With careful steps, Torunn edged through the doors and into the house. The fire had gone out and she frowned at the smoke that rose from the still glowing embers. It shouldn’t have been allowed to go out, but everyone in the village had been on the beach…
Her father’s chamber door stood open—those ornately carved doors had been closed ever since the ships had departed from Skaro’s shores. She walked quickly toward them, all thought of stealth forgotten.
Torunn hadn’t been inside those doors in more than a year. The servants only entered to wipe away the dust and reset the food on the altar he kept near his bed. No one else had been permitted to enter—but that order had clearly been pushed aside.
She bit back a gasp of horror as she saw that the bed had been stripped of her father’s blankets and furs, and his chests of treasure and clothing had been opened and emptied. The altar that had been so carefully tended even while he was away lay overturned and broken, the carvings scattered onto the rushes that had been spread over the floor.
“Stolen—” she whispered.
Voices echoed in the street and came closer to the house. Torunn pressed herself against the wall of the chamber before inching back behind the door. She kept a tight grip on her knife and peered through the crack and watched three servants enter the house carrying baskets of linen and
“They could have cleaned up after themselves,” one of the women said with a snort.
“Do you really expect the new Jarl to clean up after himself?” another laughed. “Those boys have not done a single thing for themselves since their mother died.”
Torunn gritted her teeth and stayed still as the women walked boldly through the open doors and into her father’s chamber.
“Be quick about it,” the first woman said. Heldi. Torunn recognized her well enough, the woman had served in their house since she had been brought back from a raid of a neighboring village. Torunn trusted her, but as she watched how calmly the woman removed her father’s most precious things from around the room she found that trust ebbing away.
She threw torcs, jeweled pins, and carved pieces of antler and bone into an empty basket and frowned at the woman who had come with her. Torunn did not recognize the other woman, but when she turned, Torunn remembered her from the hall—pale hair, dark eyes… she had poured her brother’s mead in the hall.
Why was she here? Who was she?
The woman with pale hair pointed to the fallen altar. “Take that away. It should be returned to the holy men, they will know how to dispose of it.”