Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(52)

“And they say that we must pray, because the Gods live above. Could be, but I have not seen them. If they are there, they do not much bother with us. So I say, save your breaths. But there is a…place or a part for all of us, I think. Call it Fate if you like. And maybe yours is to keep your mistress safe.”

He lifted her head once more and tipped the bowl against her lips.

“And to talk too much,” he added.

In spite of herself, she snorted.

Whether it was something in the drink, or just fatigue from the ordeal, her head felt like a lead weight pulling her back down into the furs. She yawned, which proved a mistake and left her wincing again.

“Sleep,” Eyvind said. “Kolbrun will see to you tomorrow.”





27

Sweat dripped down Aelfhild’s forehead, stinging her eyes. She dropped down onto one of the rocky cairns that marked the road out of Jarlstad.

“Come on, girl,” Kolbrun called from ahead, “a few steps further than that! Show some backbone!”

Aelfhild tried to ease her breathing so that her chest did not swell enough to tug at the rent in her side. The jabbing pains had eased through the days into a constant ache, but had yet to fully take their leave. Her world since the holmgang had consisted of a set of steadily widening circles. At first, she could wobble only three or four unsteady paces from her bedside. With practice, she could reach the hearth. Then, eventually, the door. And Kolbrun had been the unyielding taskmaster.

That afternoon, they were just outside the city’s palisade. Away from the cliffs surrounding the harbor the slopes of the volcano trailed down into fields of crushed rock and ashen soil. It was a harsh landscape, and foreign to Aelfhild’s eyes. Little grew there but clumps of grey-green lichen.

“A few more steps, Aela,” Ceolwen said. She was the balm to Kolbrun’s whip, ever sweet and supportive. “Lean on me.”

The Jarls had spent a week locked in council, doubtless hard at work dividing Earnfold up amongst themselves, and had no time for outlanders. So Ceolwen had been left free to help her servant along.

With her mistress under one arm, and crutch beneath the other, Aelfhild dragged herself further down the path.

Over generations the Thrym had reclaimed patches of farm and pasture from the burnt soil. As they crested a ridge, rectangles of verdant green spread out in a wide patchwork before them, each divided neatly from the next by precise stone walls.

“The soil is loose, so the farmers build walls to hold it back from the sea,” Kolbrun pointed down into the dell. “To ease the wind, as well. Less staring, now, more walking!”

And blow the wind did; it never ceased on the island. They were buffeted by gusts on their way down the hill.

“Horses, Aela!” Ceolwen raised her free hand to point.

Thrym horses were a sight to behold. Ceolwen seemed to fall in love with them on the spot. They were squat, nearly equal in width and height, and had thick, fluffy coats. Their stubby legs gave them a clipped, scurrying gait that was chipper and endearingly awkward.

Kolbrun let them rest in the lee of one of the pasture walls out of the worst of the wind. Ceolwen wandered along to stare at the animals while her servant recovered.

The shield-maiden handed Aelfhild a waterskin.

“Drink.”

Aelfhild took a swig while making a decidedly unladylike gesture at her tormentor. Luckily, Kolbrun’s attention was elsewhere.

“Queenling, would you stop laughing at my people’s horses!”

Still beaming, Ceolwen shouted back, “They are as adorable as you are, skjaldmaer!”

As she handed back the skin, Aelfhild remembered. “Did you ask about those two slaves I told you of?”

“Yes,” said Kolbrun, “but no one remembers them passing through. Boats have been coming and going with the Landsthing, so no one can say for sure.”

“It was a mother and young girl, someone must have seen them!”

“How many slaves do you think come through here this time of year? Hundreds or more. No one remembers them. And why are you so concerned?”

“Because it was a scared woman with her child! They helped me, helped us, survive the worst of the slavers.”

Kolbrun did not appear impressed, but Aelfhild pressed on.

“And they deserve to be free.”

“What does deserve have to do with it? That is life. You are so free to leave your master?”

It took Aelfhild a moment to answer. She opened her mouth more than once, but the words seemed false. She settled on an answer, though she knew it to be a feeble one. “Not the same.”

“No? She can have you caned like some wayward dog. You were never once whipped?”

There were memories. Ceolwen’s tutors had not been allowed to strike her for disobedience, so Aelfhild had born those beatings. And Ceolwen had been a headstrong child. Though, in her defense, the Aethling had always begged forgiveness afterwards.

Kolbrun did not wait for an answer this time. “Some lead, some are lead. So goes the world.”

“It is not—”

“Fair? Right? I wager two weeks ago you thought nothing of it. You go on waiting for the world to be fair, girl. The rest of us will get on with living.”

“You sound like your own master,” Aelfhild replied. It had come out with more acid than she intended, but she was in no mood to back down.