“What happened?”
“Father returned and bought the goose a few days later and she became a mascot around the keep. He actually assigned a thrall to care for her, following her around with a cloth during all waking hours to clean whatever droppings she left behind. Gorm hated her, and it was mutual. She’d sometimes bite him for the hell of it and chase him down the halls.”
Her companion roared with laughter then. “Gods, that poor man. Whatever happened to her?”
Bryn turned her face toward the sun and smiled, thinking of her little white goose. “She died a year before I left the hold at the ripe age of twenty-three. Some of her descendants are still around. We never grew as attached to all of them, but Bertha? I loved her. No matter what was wrong, she was there for me. She always knew when I needed someone. She’d come up to wherever I sat and rest her bill on my knee.”
“Sounds like a wonderful bird.”
“The best. Happy now? I was the little goose she tried to warm. Even when I was older, she treated me the same. Your turn now.”
“Mine won’t be nearly as darling, because most of my childhood stories are related to me doing something stupid at Cara’s behest. I was the dumb twin.”
“Even better then. Regale me with tales of your stupidity.”
“All right. So, there was this time we were at the beach with our parents and Cara dared me to sit on a sand scuttler nest…”
Chapter 16
For the first three days, they faced no trouble camping in grassy meadows beneath the stars. Their steeds grazed well, even when they reached the plains where snow crept over the ground in patches of pristine ivory. When the cold became too much, they huddled around a fire together for their own comfort and that of their mounts.
And when they saw evidence of a hunting party in the area, they went without, instead sharing a bedroll together on hard ground in the dark with only one of Bryn’s warming stones for comfort. It was enough. Though it was dark and only a sliver of the moon lit the bleak ground, they took comfort in knowing messenger pigeons carrying rags bearing their scent were leaving false trails for hunting hounds to follow.
On the fourth day, they had just barely reached the northern outskirts of her father’s lands, where their people once dwelled in the farmland, growing frostwort and other cold-loving crops. Fields of it now spanned far and wide, grown wild and out of control. The horses tore into it greedily, happy to be free both from their riders and to eat their fill.
“We should remain here for the night,” Sigurd said, gesturing to an abandoned farmhouse. “There is a storm coming on the western horizon. Look.”
“Blast.”
“No worries. We’ve found shelter, and that’s all that matters. Better to stay here and wait it out than to be caught in the open.”
While Bryn tended to the needs of their horses, Sigurd investigated the main structure. In addition to the home, a small barn showed evidence of having housed horses and livestock. After leading both animals inside and removing their tack, she searched the premises and found sacks of sprouting grain. Light poured through an unpatched hole in the roof, where thatch and wood had caved in and left the building lopsided. While chilly, the barn remained warmer than complete exposure to the elements.
As Bryn poured a sack of grain and green grass into a trough, something disturbed the dry straw behind her. She turned in time to catch a large feline leaving one of the stalls. It stared with keen but unusual eyes, then plopped down to watch.
“Hello, kitty,” she greeted it.
Leaving the horses free of the stalls, Bryn visited the well outside with two pails. There, sitting on the rim, was an identical striped cat, muscles rippling beneath its black, cream, and orange medium-length coat. After filling both pails and providing water, she headed inside, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching her.
Bryn knew the feeling . A feeling of warmth and security. A feeling she’d only experienced with Frigga’s eyes were upon her.
Could it be that…? No. Why would the gods be here in the Frozen Vale?
They met up again inside the house, where Sigurd had shuttered the windows and started a low fire in the hearth. He’d taken their bedrolls and laid them out over the nearby bed. The inhabitants must have left in a hurry, perhaps urged to evacuate by Koldgrun guards, as nothing appeared to have been taken.
Unless…
While the occasional renegade jotun ventured south, exiled from his homeland, those sightings were a rarity in recent years.
The family had likely been another casualty of Gunnar’s greed. Her mind whirled with a dozen possibilities, each one more dismal than the last.
“Fancy a bath?” Sigurd suddenly said, breaking her from that bleak train of thought.
“What?”
“A bath,” he repeated, taking her by the hand and bringing her around a partition in the living room to where a big copper tub was waiting. With the exception of a patch of green patina on the exterior, the tub was in decent shape and had been cared for up until the day the home’s owners vanished.
Bryn longed for a dip in it to warm her aching bones and the soul-deep chill that had penetrated her winter cloak. “It would take you several trips to fill that tub,” she protested instead. “It isn’t feasible.”
“It’s fine,” Sigurd grunted.
“But—”
“Do you want the bath?”
“I’d love one,” she admitted.
One bucket at a time, Sigurd hauled in water from the well. The first was wasted scrubbing out the cobwebs and fine layer of dust. It took close to an hour to fill the vessel once that was done.
“Where are your warming stones?”
“Here.” Bryn passed him the box of heating elements and a glove. He headed over to the double slipper tub, spoke the enchantment, and dropped it in even as it began to glow with magic. An immediate reaction took place, water bubbling and steam rising into the air.
Eventually, he reached in and fetched the stone. “Feels just about right. Go ahead. I’ll keep watch.”
“Watch for what?”
“Trackers,” he grumbled. “If they’re on our trail—”
“They won’t be. I do not know why, but I feel as if…we are safe at this moment.”
“The gods?”
“I do not know. But something about this home sets me at ease. Besides, you went to so much effort to stand alone in the cold. Join me.”
“There’s barely enough room for you, left alone for me to join you.”
“There’s plenty of room. This is a large tub, meant for two to conserve water and save time.”
“For two normal-sized people, Bryn. If you haven’t noticed”—he gestured toward his tall frame then to her—“we’re enormous.”
Her grin widened. “There’s room,” she insisted.
Giving him no time to protest, Bryn unbuckled her armor and removed each garment beneath it, piling them onto a small adjacent table designed for that purpose. She didn’t look at Sigurd the whole while, aware that for all their time together as close friends, she had never bared herself to him fully. Not until the end did she raise her chin to meet his gaze, and the intensity she received told her he’d watched from start to finish.