In the morning they would burn the body of their father and the sight of her brothers laughing and drinking in the firelight was almost too much to bear.
8
Torunn knew that she was being watched, she drank and ate, but the mead did not touch her sorrow, and the meat she ate did not satisfy the empty feeling in her stomach. It had been easier to wonder what had happened to her father than it was to know the truth.
Hallvard invited her to stand beside his chair while he handed out treasures that had been taken from the houses of the Saxon god. Gold. Silver. Jewels that she had never seen before… All for the glory of some blasphemous deity across the waves. If such things had been stolen from the altars of their gods, the punishment would have been swift and vicious—but this Saxon god seemed to ignore the terror that her people had brought to his most devout followers.
Hallvard handed out the last of his treasure and then stood up from his chair. He raised his hand for silence and all eyes turned to him. “And for my sister, I have not forgotten you.”
Torunn drained the remainder of the mead in her cup and smiled briefly at the woman who stepped forward to refill it.
“Torunn was given care of Skaro while my brother and I… and our brave warriors—” A great roar filled the air and Hallvard smiled at the crowd until they quieted. “When we were away raiding, our dear father entrusted you to look after our people. But now that your Jarl has returned, I shall lift this burden from your shoulders.”
Torunn’s hand tightened on her cup of mead. She knew that she was supposed to smile graciously at her brother, but she could not bring herself to do it.
Asgaut stepped up beside his brother and smiled broadly. “In gratitude for your service to our people, and to your Jarl, we have made an alliance with Jarl Sigurd—”
Icy fingers crept up Torunn’s spine. Her father had always hated Jarl Sigurd. An alliance between their two families would only happen for one reason.
Hallvard laid a hand on Asgaut’s shoulder and Torunn saw her brother wince as Hallvard’s grip tightened. “Now, we shall not give away all of our good news—” he said. “Torunn has done great service to us. In return, she may ask the Jarl for any gift from the treasure we have brought back from the Saxons.”
“I do not want Saxon treasure,” she choked out.
Hallvard blinked at her in surprise. “No treasure?”
“No.”
“Then what will you ask of your Jarl?”
“The prisoner, Bersi Athulfsson. I will take him as a slave.” Her words were choked, and she was surprised that they had come out of her mouth. Was this what she really wanted? She had waited long enough for her father’s return… and the thought of the execution she had threatened him with… she did not know if she could go through with it. And she did not want to turn him over to her brothers.
Hallvard’s eyebrow rose. “The prisoner. But he was to be executed…”
Torunn shook her head.
Asgaut leaned forward. “Iri has been kind enough to tell us about Laxa’s betrayal. Their elders have assured us that there will be no further unrest—all they ask is that the rebel be eliminated. And you would have us spare his life?”
“Give him to me,” Torunn demanded. “If he displeases me, I will kill him myself.”
Laxa’s elders stood near the fire with their arms crossed over their chests, but Torunn did not look at them.
Hallvard laughed and then shrugged. “Let it be so.”
“And I want my own house in the village,” she blurted out. She could not bear the thought of living under the same roof as her brothers, especially now.
Her brother shook his head. “I will grant your requests, but only so you will stop making them. You may have any house you wish, and the prisoner Bersi Athulfsson now belongs to you.”
Torunn nodded and raised her cup of mead as the crowd cheered, but the noise sounded hollow to her ears. Asgaut’s promise of an alliance with Jarl Sigurd pierced her thoughts like a needle.
Iri stood next to her, but she could see in his expression that there was something wrong. But she didn’t have time to worry about how Iri was feeling. Not now.
Embers glowed in the fire, and the last of the blackened logs crumbled and fell, releasing a cloud of sparks into the air. Men were snoring and grunting in their sleep all around her, and Torenn watched them with a sneer on her face. Slumped over tables and lying on the floor, her brothers’ warriors and friends had been laid low by drink and rich food. She hated every single one of them.
The celebration had continued far into the night, but Torunn wasn’t celebrating. Though she could not show it, she was in mourning. She had seen early in the night that any man who dared to say anything against the new Jarl, even a muttered word, had been escorted roughly from the hall. She could not imagine what would happen if she showed any weakness in front of her brothers—
No. Not weakness.
It was not a weakness to love one’s father. Especially a father like Arnd Reinnsson. But there would be time for tears later. When she could be alone and not have to fear for her own safety. As much as she hated her brothers, she feared them more.
Torunn poured the remnants of her mead onto the back of the man who was passed out on the floor beside her chair and threw her cup down. It bounced off the man’s shoulder and he grunted in his stupor before he rolled over and snored louder.
A scene like this one was not uncommon for the night before a great man’s funeral—but there had been no tales of her father’s deeds, or songs about his victories. Instead, the evening had been spent celebrating Hallvard and his ascension to their father’s seat.
There had been no talk of the funeral at all, and Torunn had no idea what to expect, or what tribute would be paid to the great man who had been Jarl. She rose from her seat and pushed the elbow of a sleeping man aside with her boot before stepping over his bulk. She resisted the urge to look back at her brothers and then walked out of the hall with her back straight and her chin high.
In the early morning light, only a few thin tendrils of smoke rose from the houses. The village was quiet, but Torunn expected that. She turned toward the healer’s house, but the thought of the linen-wrapped package that Heldi had given her hit her with sudden sharpness. She changed her direction mid-stride and took the road that would lead her back toward her father’s house. The doors were closed, and Torunn pushed them open without pausing first.
The doors to her father’s chamber were closed, but Torunn didn’t give it a second glance. She had to distance herself from the feelings of anger and betrayal that threatened to engulf her.
The door to her own chamber was open, and she narrowed her eyes in suspicion. The bed was undisturbed, but the baskets that were stored beneath it had been moved.
Torunn let out a frustrated breath and knelt down beside her bed. The basket she had kicked back toward the wall was still there. If the woman with pale hair had been looking for the package Heldi had given her, she had not found it.
She rose up and grabbed one of the spears that leaned against the wall beside her bed. She stabbed it under the bed, drove the iron point into the side of the woven basket, and pulled it toward herself.