Unless something was wrong.
Iri took a breath and leaned forward to refill her cup. “If the rumors are true, then the people will not be satisfied until a new Jarl is named.”
Torunn made a face. She knew as well as Iri did that the only ones who would be named in her father’s stead were her brothers. She didn’t want to think about what would happen to Skaro if that happened.
“Or?”
“Or— Your father must make a journey to Myrka to be cleansed and reaffirm his connection to the gods… If they’ll have him.”
“He’ll never agree to it,” Torunn said. Her father was stubborn. He would not bend to pressure like this. Especially to appease a rumor. She could not imagine that a suggestion that a journey to the priests who inhabited the forest of Myrka would be met with anything but mocking laughter. She could hear it already.
Iri shrugged and tipped his cup back to drain it.
“Is that the only option?”
“The only one that the people will accept.”
Torunn slid her hand into the pocket of her tunic and stroked her fingers over the carved golden raven she had taken from the council member’s treasures in Laxa. The gold warmed against her palm and she tried to organize her thoughts.
“Could someone go on his behalf?” she asked.
Iri frowned at his empty cup and smoothed a hand over his beard. “The priests might accept it, but the people…”
“If the priests approve, the people will follow,” Torunn said firmly.
“As you say.”
Torunn narrowed her eyes at her father’s advisor. Iri was cunning, and he always had a motive. She did not doubt that there was something about this plan that benefited him in some way. All she wanted was for things to go back to the way they had been before her father set out raiding.
Whether or not that was possible was what plagued her now. If she could, she would go to the holy places in her father’s stead. If the priests would accept it, she would make the sacrifices and say the words that would set things right.
But would it be enough?
5
Iarund didn’t allow her to see the rebel for a full week. Each time she came, he turned her away and when she demanded a reason, the old healer would not give her one.
Finally, Torunn had had enough of the healer’s refusals. “Why will you not let me see him?”
“You tasked me with keeping him alive,” Iarund snapped. “You and your men did your work to make this difficult for me. You must forgive me for wanting to be certain that he would survive your subsequent interrogations.”
Torunn felt her cheeks warm at his accusation. “He’s lucky I didn’t kill him when I had the chance.”
“You did well enough,” the healer said wryly. He closed the door in her face and Torunn dropped her head and resisted the urge to kick the door. She raised her hand and balled it into a fist to slam it against the wooden door, but before she could bring it down the door opened and the healer glared at her.
“He’ll see you.”
“You’re too kind,” she muttered as she stepped past him into the house.
Bersi Athulfsson lay on a bed of furs, he was covered from the waist down with a light woollen blanket and Torunn kept her eyes on his face to avoid looking at the hard muscles of his torso and the twisted blue tattoos that covered his arms and chest.
He was awake and watched her as she crossed the room.
“What are you smiling at,” she snarled.
He pulled back the blanket to reveal his thigh and she glanced down quickly and then looked away. A thick poultice covered his thigh from hip to knee. “Your cut was deep,” he said. “Any longer in that hut and I would have been dead.”
“The gods must be watching over you,” she said stiffly.
“Iarund did his work well,” Bersi said. His tone was appreciative and the healer grunted from the opposite side of the room but said nothing.
“So you’ll live.”
“It seems so.”
“Good. My father will be pleased to hear it.”
“He will not be pleased with what I have to say,” Bersi snorted.
“Perhaps you will be able to think of a different way to answer his questions,” she said tersely.
“I doubt it.”
Torunn narrowed her eyes at the rebel. “He’ll see you executed.”
He shrugged. “I will not meet him in Valhalla, so it does not matter.”
“Do not say such things,” she hissed. “It is a rumor, nothing more.”
“Rumors only gain strength when they are ignored.”
“What would you have me do?”
“You speak for the Jarl, you told me yourself that you carry his authority in your hands. Speak against the rumors. Deny them.” He looked at her carefully and Torunn felt a rush of shame as he read her reaction to his words. “Unless you believe there is some truth to the accusations.”
“There is none.”
Bersi shrugged again. “As you say.”
His blue eyes were clear and bright and Torunn didn’t like the way he looked at her. It was too familiar. Too bold.
“I should have killed you,” she muttered.
“I am grateful that you did not,” he chuckled.
Torunn grunted and turned away. “Keep him healthy,” she said to the healer as she pulled open the door and stepped out into the chill morning air. She slammed the door shut behind her and sucked in a deep breath of air. She couldn’t confirm his lies.
Her father would never turn his face from the gods. He had pledged himself to Odin when he took the mantle of Jarl. He blessed the ships before each voyage. He sacrificed his enemies and paid tribute to the gods at the festivals…
It was impossible to believe that he would leave that all behind for the barbaric god from across the waves. He would never.
Torunn had stomped back to the village determined to push every thought of Bersi’s words out of her mind, but no matter how many cups of mead she drank or how many times she sparred with the warriors who had been left behind to guard Skaro she could not shake off the worry that the rumors were correct.
Iri had not spoken of his solution again, but Torunn had thought of it far more often than she would ever admit.
Weeks passed and Bersi was released from the healer’s house. As tempted as she had been to put him back into the windowless hut at the western gate, Iarund had forced her to agree to house him in cleaner lodgings, and to allow him to walk through the village to exercise his leg and keep him strong. Torunn had not had any choice but to agree to the healer’s demands. She wanted the rebel healthy enough to stand in front of her father to face his punishment.
She set guards outside his door, and did her best to stay out of his way when he walked through the village with the warriors who had been tasked with keeping him safe. She had not intended that he be protected, but every man and woman in Skaro knew who he was and what he had done. Halle’s mother had already pledged to seek his blood in payment for her only son’s life and Torunn’s heart ached at the knowledge that she could not give the woman what she demanded. She had made a vow, and she would not break it.
The weight of her decision followed her every step, and with every day that passed her resolve weakened. Her father would understand if she executed Bersi for his crimes. Halle deserved his death. She deserved it.