“Did you eat?” she asked.
He sat down and brushed more snow off his cloak before taking the plate she offered. She set down her cup of mead and poured one for him. He looked at her strangely, but did not say anything.
She waited impatiently as he bit into the chicken and drank the mead she had given him. He stared into the fire and did not meet her eyes as he ate and Torunn finally gave up and stared angrily into her cup until he set down the wooden plate and let out a satisfied grunt.
“What did you hear?” she demanded.
“You have no patience,” he said.
“I do not have to have patience,” she snapped. “You were given a task and I expect you to have something to show for being gone for so long.”
Bersi chuckled and wiped the back of his hand across his beard. “As you say.”
“Of course it is as I say,” Torunn muttered.
Bersi took a long drink from his cup and held it out toward her. She gritted her teeth and pulled it from his hand. She refilled it slowly and held it up instead of giving it back to him.
“Tell me what I want to know,” she said.
Bersi sighed and shifted on his chair before he unpinned his cloak and shrugged it off his broad shoulders. “The task you set me was not easy,” he said.
Torunn snorted. “How is that possible? The people of Skaro talk far too much to make such a thing difficult.”
He shook his head. “There was a lot of talk, but not all of it was useful.”
“Why?”
“The people are afraid.”
“Of what?”
Bersi looked at the fire and then back to her. “Of your brothers,” he said softly.
Torunn looked around to make sure that they were alone before she leaned forward and held out the cup of mead. This was what she wanted to hear. Bersi’s fingers brushed hers as he took the cup and she shivered at the chill of his touch against her skin.
“Why?”
Bersi took a sip of mead and looked at her thoughtfully. “Talk of omens and blasphemy has all but disappeared. All the people talk of is victory—more raids. Expanding Skaro’s territories. Your brother wants to be a powerful man.”
Torurun blinked in surprise. “But he already is,” she whispered.
“Not enough for his liking, it seems.”
“What else?”
Bersi shook his head. “Not much. People are very quiet, but there are those who do not accept what has been said and done.”
“What do you mean?”
Bersi looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “There are some who do not believe the story your brothers have told.”
“About my father’s death?”
Bersi inclined his head and held out his cup to be refilled.
Torunn grabbed the jug and peered into it. “Empty,” she muttered.
She shrugged off the blanket around her shoulders and stood up on unexpectedly unsteady legs. Bersi moved to help her, but she braced herself on his shoulder and pushed away from him before he could try to assist.
With her chin held high, Torunn walked to the barrels of mead that were kept in a small alcove near the kitchens. She refilled the jug, straightened, and took a gulp directly from the edge before filling it again.
She could hear Bersi chuckle from the fireside. “You will be too drunk to listen to what I have to tell you.”
Torunn glared at him and walked back to the fire with sturdier steps than before. She could handle her mead better than most, and she liked to think that she had everything under control. Some people did strange things when they were drunk, Torunn didn’t.
“I am never too drunk to listen to gossip,” she said firmly. She filled Bersi’s cup and pushed it into his hand before taking her seat again. “Now. What are they saying about my father’s death?”
Bersi took a drink and sighed heavily. “They say— They say that he was cursed to die away from Skaro. The gods were not watching him. Your father was a great warrior. He should not have fallen in battle against monks and old men…”
Torunn’s jaw tightened and she held her cup of mead tightly. Her ribs throbbed under the bandage and she pressed her other hand against it. Bersi’s forehead creased with concern, and she pulled her hand away.
“He was a great warrior,” she murmured.
“Were you permitted to see him before his funeral?”
Torunn shook her head. “No. Hallvard left instruction that none were to see him.”
“Did Iarund say anything to you?”
“No.” The thought hit her squarely in her chest. The healer would know what had happened. He would be able to tell her how her father had died. Perhaps it was a lucky strike, or an accident… her brothers would never tell her the truth. “I must speak to him.”
She set her cup down on the edge of the fire and stood up.
Bersi stared at her in surprise. “Where are you going?”
“To the Healer,” she said stiffly. “You do not have to follow me.”
“You are not going to the Healer right now,” he chuckled. “I do not believe he would be a gracious host at this time of night.”
Torunn frowned at him, but she could not argue. It was late, and no matter how desperately she wanted to speak to Iarund, she would be turned away by his acolytes.
“In the morning,” she said.
Bersi nodded and took another drink.
“What else,” she demanded.
Bersi wiped his hand across his beard and shook his head. “Nothing more.”
“I do not believe you,” Torunn snapped.
“You do not have to, but it is the truth. I have no reason to lie to you.”
His dark eyes burned into hers, and Torunn felt her stomach tighten as he looked at her. “Slaves cannot lie,” she said. “I could have you beaten for your disobedience.”
“A master should learn to beat their own slaves,” he said casually. It was a challenge, she could see it in his eyes.
“Stand up,” she commanded. Bersi set down his cup and stood up to his full height. He was impossibly tall, but Torunn was not afraid of him. She didn’t know what she was feeling. He watched her walk to the edge of the room where she pulled a length of wood from a barrel. It was as long as her forearm and she gripped it tightly.
“Why are you afraid to know the truth about your father?” Bersi asked.
“I am not afraid of anything,” Torunn snapped. “It is you who should be afraid. I could kill you and no one would blink when they found your corpse.”
The big man chuckled. “You may be correct. There were a few men I spoke to who would have cheered you for doing it.”
“I should have had you killed when I had the chance,” she muttered. “My father would have dealt with you harshly. He had no patience for traitors.”
“I do not think so,” Bersi replied. “A traitor to the gods would have no authority to judge me.”
Torunn let out a choked cry and swung the stick at Bersi’s head. He moved out of the way easily and pushed her arm to the side so that her blow fell on nothing but air. She stumbled forward, but then caught herself and struck again before he could block. The blow caught him on the shoulder and he grunted at the force of her strike. She almost smiled, but then his grunt became laughter, and her anger returned.