Sky in the Deep(72)

“What happened in Fela?” She wiped her blade against her pants. “Before you came to Hylli?”

My eyes drifted to my father, but he was bent over his sword, sharpening the blade. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve given your heart to that Riki.” There was nothing in her tone that revealed her thoughts.

I wasn’t going to deny it. Myra knew me as well as my father did. But he’d had the sense not to ask what he didn’t want to know. “You won’t understand,” I whispered. And I pinched my eyes closed, remembering Iri speaking the same words to me.

She slid the knife back into its sheath and looked down at me. “I don’t need to understand.” She offered me her hand and I took it. “You’re alive and you’re with us. That’s all I care about.”

They settled down onto their knees and I found my place beside them, pulling the idol of my mother from my armor vest. Beside me, Myra held the idols of her entire family in both her hands. Her mother, her father, her sister, and her brother. I could still see their faces in my mind and guilt, hard and solid in my throat, made it difficult to breathe.

I let out a long exhale, warmed in the familiar sound of the prayers. Their whispered words lifted in the tent and I stayed quiet, listening to their voices. I closed my eyes, pressing the idol to my heart, but I didn’t cry. The unsteadiness was gone, being near them and knowing that Iri and Fiske were on the other side of the river, safe. Inge, Halvard, and Runa too.

I touched the face of my mother’s idol. I pressed my lips to it and prayed. The same prayers I’d prayed to Sigr since the day she died.

And then I did something I’d never done in my life.

I prayed to Thora.





FORTY-FIVE


Those who weren’t fighting set out for Virki in two separate groups, mostly the elderly and the children. Halvard was given to Gyda, who had her baby strapped to her back. He walked behind Kerling’s horse, looking back at us as they crossed the valley. He didn’t argue, but he didn’t like it, and neither did Kerling. They wanted to fight. It blazed like an inferno on their faces.

I helped Inge prepare bandages and waited for Fiske to come, but he didn’t. And when the Riki settled down into their tents, I stood outside, waiting. The smell of the altar fire was in the air, riding on the wind across the river from the Aska camp. They were making sacrifices and asking Sigr to bless our battle.

Fiske didn’t come down the path until after dark. He stood in the tent’s opening, his face drawn and tired, watching me.

I braided my hair for war, letting it fall down my back in long woven strands. I checked all my armor and weapons one last time, and looked up from the top of my gaze to watch Fiske do the same. How many times had we both done this before, preparing to fight one another?

I pulled his hair back into a tight knot and took the kol from my saddlebag so I could rim his eyes with my thumbs. Then I sat on the cot and looked up at him so he could paint it onto me. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes as his calloused fingers dragged over my skin.

“Will it work?” I asked.

His hands stilled on me and I opened my eyes. “Yes,” he answered.

But I wasn’t as sure. I’d come close to death too many times. Whatever favor Sigr had given me was probably running out. “If I die tomorrow”—I swallowed—“you’ll take care of Iri.”

He nodded. He wasn’t going to say it wouldn’t happen because we’d both seen enough clansmen fall to know it could. “And if you don’t?”

“What do you mean?”

He looked down into my face, putting the words together in his mind before he said them. “If you go back to Hylli, I want to come with you.”

I twisted the corner of the blanket in my hands. “What about your family?”

“I’ll go where you go.” This time, the words were unyielding.

I nodded, trying to suck in a breath past the tears coming up in my throat. I didn’t want to cry. I reached for him and he came down onto his knees in front of me, between my legs, and he let out a long breath as he leaned into me. I held his weight, holding him tightly. “I didn’t want to ask you,” I said in a cracked whisper.

He set his head onto my shoulder. “You didn’t have to ask me.”

I smiled, my lips pressed to his ear. Because Fiske lived in lockstep with his heart. He did what he believed in. It was the reason he hadn’t left Iri in the trench and the reason he’d taken me home.

He climbed up onto the cot beside me and tangled his legs into mine. I pulled the blanket over us and watched him fall deep into a dream, his face relaxing and the lines that creased his forehead smoothing. I kissed him there and looked at him until my eyes were too heavy to stay open.

And then I followed him into sleep.

*

A distant whistle sounded and my eyes popped open. Fiske was already rolling onto his feet, rubbing his face with both of his hands and pulling his boots on. I sat up slowly, finding mine in the dark and standing so I could fit my scabbard to me. I crossed my arms over my chest, hooking my fingers over my shoulders, and let Fiske tighten the clasps. He tucked the idol of my mother inside, against my chest. I’d hoped the ache in my shoulder would be better.

The rest of the camp readied outside as I worked at his armor, checking everything twice. When my hands went back a third time, he caught them with his and waited for me to look up at him.