Bersi stood in the doorway as the acolyte smeared her ribs with the poultice that Iarund had made. It smelled strongly of herbs and she hissed as it touched her skin. Bersi straightened briefly but stopped as she laughed.
“Cold,” she murmured.
The acolyte ignored her and concentrated on his work, but Torunn kept her eyes on Bersi. The rebel was watching the other man as he worked, but his brows were furrowed in concentration as he observed.
“The healing is progressing well,” the acolyte said in a bored tone. “The scarring will not be pretty—”
“What do I care about that?” Torunn snapped.
The acolyte shrugged. “I will inform the Healer that you are looking well. No fever?”
“No,” she replied.
“Sometimes in the night,” Bersi said from the doorway.
Torunn’s eyes flickered to him and then she looked away as his dark eyes burned into hers.
The acolyte turned his attention to the rebel. “Anything else?”
“She has stiffness in her shoulder,” he said. “Is there anything that can be done to ensure that she will not have trouble in combat?”
The acolyte shrugged. “She was lucky that the blow did not break her ribs as it passed, and that it did not cut any deeper. Some stiffness may be expected, but she is young, and it may pass with time and use as her strength returns.”
“You should speak to me about my own body,” Torunn said tersely.
“Not my slave.”
The acolyte looked somewhat guilty and nodded. “I did not— My apologies.”
“Do you have more of the poultice?” Bersi asked. He did not seem at all concerned by Torunn’s anger, which only irritated her further.
The acolyte shook his head and glanced nervously at Torunn before addressing Bersi once more. “The Healer only gave as much as would be needed. She will not need the poultice again. In five days’ time, wash this one away and I will send a salve that may be applied to the wound. Light bandages only will be needed afterward.”
“And may I finally leave my house?” Torunn demanded. She had had enough of this nonsense.
“You may, but only for a short amount of time, and dress warmly. Your body is fighting infection and will be weakened by the efforts.”
Torunn snorted and pulled her tunic down over her shoulder to cover the bandages. She winced as her shoulder rotated to accommodate the movement. Bersi was not wrong in his assessment, but she had never mentioned that it pained her. The knowledge that he watched her when she slept should have been unsettling, but in this case, it was oddly comforting.
The acolyte began to pack his bag, but his movements were quick and his hands shook slightly. Torunn smiled, he was clearly uncomfortable and knew that his presence was unappreciated. “I will send a boy with herbs to make a tea to combat the fever,” he said hastily as he straightened and pulled the bag over his shoulder.
“See that you do,” Torunn said sharply.
“I will return in five days with the salve,” he said.
“That will not be necessary,” Bersi interrupted him. “Send the salve, I will see to it.”
The acolyte’s eyes widened and he glanced at Torunn, but she dismissed him with a wave of her hand.
The young man walked quickly to the door and squeezed past Bersi’s bulk to escape the room.
She glared at the rebel and crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring the twinge of pain in her ribs.
“You were closer to death than you know,” Bersi said softly. “If Solva’s sword had cut any deeper—”
“I do not want to know,” she snapped. She had thought about that fact far too much, and the many ways that she could have died in Iarund’s house without ever waking up.
“Are you angry with me?”
She was, but it was only a mild sort of irritation now. Her anger at his rebellion had long since died away, but Hallvard and Asgaut’s return to Skaro had changed her focus entirely. She had not been able to walk the streets of the village to listen to what the people were saying, but if what she had seen in her father’s mead hall had been any indication, any dissent would be quiet and she would have to look for it in shadowed corners instead of out in the open.
“I have a task for you,” she said. She had no intention of answering his question.
He stood up straighter in the doorway.
“I need you to listen to the people. It has been too long since I have been able to walk through Skaro and listen.”
Bersi’s eyebrow rose. “What am I listening for?”
“I do not know,” she mused. “Rumors. Unrest… The people were loud enough before your… rebellion.”
“Was that how you knew?”
She smiled briefly and then settled herself on the bed. “Send someone with some mead before you go.”
He stared at her for a moment and Torunn held his gaze without flinching. He looked as though he was trying to think of something to say, and then changed his mind. Instead, Bersi muttered something under his breath, turned, and walked out of the room without argument.
* * *
Torunn paced her room for what seemed like hours. A servant brought her a pitcher of mead and a cup as she had demanded, and she drank while she listened to her brothers as they spoke loudly in the center of the house.
They spoke of nothing that interested her, except for a mention of Jarl Sigurd. But as she pressed her ear to the door in the hope of hearing something more, they were called to the hall in the center of the village for a meeting—what the meeting could be, she couldn’t guess. She waited until the house had grown quiet again before she refilled her cup of mead and pulled a blanket from her bed.
The healer’s acolyte had told her to stay warm, but she could not stay in her room any longer. She opened her door and peered out into the house. A fire crackled in the center of the room and she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders before walking toward it.
A few servants moved around the space, and she lifted her cup at one of them. Her shoulder ached and throbbed under the bandage. More mead was definitely required, otherwise she would never get to sleep.
It was well past sunset when she heard the sound of stomping feet and double doors creaked open. Bersi’s head and shoulders were covered in snow and he shook himself like a dog before entering the house. Torunn covered her mouth to keep from laughing, but as he looked up she forced the smile from her face. She was annoyed that he had taken so much time in his task, but she was not certain why she felt that way—or why she felt the need to pretend not to be pleased to see him.
She was eager for his news, but he could not know it.
“Why are you so late returning?” she demanded. “You have been gone for hours.”
He nodded and came toward the fire. “I was.”
“And you have no explanation for me?”
“Whispers are difficult to hear sometimes,” he replied as he held his hands over the fire.
She pointed to a stool that had been dragged near the fire. “Sit.”
A plate of chicken lay untouched beside her, she had not been hungry enough when Heldi had brought it for her, but it might have been her anxiousness for Bersi’s return. She hadn’t realized until he was gone that it might have been suspicious for him to be asking questions. People would recognize him as her slave—or they would recognize him as the rebel who tried and failed to take Skaro in the dead of night. He was lucky that he had returned at all. If he had met Halle’s father in the street… But he had not. She should have been grateful for that.