Thorbjorg’s bound hands scrabbled helplessly at Gunnhild’s arms and face, but Gunnhild leaned away and held firm. And suddenly the other witch stopped struggling. Her eyes stayed open. She did not move.
Gunnhild didn’t let go until she felt a hand on her shoulder and heard Signy’s voice say, softly, “Gunna, that’s enough. She’s gone.”
* * *
—
SHE WOKE UP ON the floor of the weaving workshop with her head in Ulla’s lap, and as soon as she sat up, Oddny and Signy embraced her. Ulla cried and clung to Runfrid, who sagged in relief. But Saeunn asked, “What happened down there?” and turned mournfully to the body slumped beside her.
Gunnhild made to stand with Oddny’s and Signy’s help, all the while staring at Thora, who’d collapsed backward on the platform. Blood seeped from beneath the body as Thora’s sightless eyes stared up into the rafters, a small iron staff peeking out from beneath her cloak.
“What . . .?” Gunnhild put a hand to her mouth. “What happened to her?”
“We don’t know,” Runfrid said helplessly. “She just—”
“Signy happened to her,” Oddny said. “Thora was the third witch, Gunna. She was the seal. She broke your thread. She was working with them all along.”
Gunnhild clenched her teeth. She had not suspected Thora for a moment; she’d been so grateful that at least one of Eirik’s stepmothers seemed to like her, had been comforted by the woman’s kindness in contrast to Queen Gyda’s severity. Thora had made Gunnhild drop her guard. Never again.
Saeunn and Runfrid shifted away from the body in disgust, and Ulla drew herself to standing and spat on the floor at the dead woman’s feet.
“I suppose that’s why she didn’t arrive until after Gunnhild collapsed.” Saeunn grabbed her cane and stood as well. “King Harald is never going to believe this.”
“Believe what?” said a voice from the doorway as Queen Gyda entered. The women inside were silent, so she repeated, “Believe what?” Then her eyes moved to Thora’s body, and her back went straight as a spear shaft as she rounded on Gunnhild. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Thora was a witch,” Gunnhild said.
“She said Hakon was going to be king and—and she wanted to get Eirik out of the way so there would be less competition for him,” Oddny added, but in a way that made Gunnhild believe she wasn’t telling the whole truth.
For a moment Gunnhild was terrified that Queen Gyda wouldn’t believe them, but then, to her surprise, the older woman’s eyes moved back to Thora’s body—to her staff—and hardened.
“This explains some things I’ve long suspected.” She sighed. “Saeunn is right. My husband will never believe it, and even if he does, he’ll deny it—he’ll blame one of you for her death before admitting to being bewitched twice, and things will not go well for that unfortunate person.” This, with a pointed look at Gunnhild. “We’ll move her body to the front of the longhouse with the others, and no one will be the wiser.”
“With—the others?” Oddny said, eyes going wide. “Oh, gods. Halldor!” She darted away from Gunnhild and Signy, dodged Queen Gyda, and sprinted out the door. Signy grabbed Gunnhild’s hand and followed.
The hillside leading down to the dock was strewn with the bodies of civilians and warriors alike, but it was clear the Hordalanders had won against Tryggvi’s men. Old Hrolf was bleeding from the temple, and Saeunn flew to his side as fast as her bad knee would allow, while the cookhouse girls fussed over Hrafnhild, who had a small wound at her shoulder. Oddny wove among the survivors, frantically calling her husband’s name.
Beyond, the fog in the fjord had dissipated and several ships had already come in, the battle’s survivors mingling with the civilians on the hill. She saw Eirik’s ship among those docked, but that was no guarantee that he was alive. With a worried look at Oddny, Gunnhild moved to help her search for Halldor, but out of the corner of her eye she saw a familiar shape at the docks and her heart leapt. Every bone in her body screamed at her to go to him, to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her. But Oddny—
Signy squeezed her hand and said, “Gunna.”
Gunnhild turned and gave her a good look. So much of her sworn sister had changed—Signy was thin enough now to be wearing a dress Gunnhild recognized as Oddny’s, which was too short—but those eyes, that smile, were the same.
Signy gave her a hug. Gunnhild returned it, blinking back tears. She’d come so far, she’d done so much, and until that moment it hadn’t hit her—she’d succeeded. She’d vanquished Thorbjorg. She’d saved Signy.
She’d won.
But not without help.
Signy pulled away and looked into her face. “I’ll help Oddny look for Halldor. Go to your husband.”
Gunnhild gave her one more hug and fled to the docks. She pushed her way through the crowd of bloody, haggard, exhausted warriors coming up the hill until she came to the bloodiest, most haggard, and arguably most exhausted of them all and threw her arms around him in complete disregard of the fact that it would ruin her clothing; he was splattered with blood and viscera nearly from head to toe. She had a feeling none of it was his.
Eirik held her as though they had not seen each other for a very long time. She didn’t realize that she had been crying until he pulled away and wiped away one of her tears with his thumb, leaving a smear of red and grime across her cheek. She cupped his face and smoothed his beard. It was wet with blood under her fingers, but the only recent mark she saw on him was the fresh scar from his duel with Halldor.
He looked at her, then looked down. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” she said, putting a hand to the small curve of her belly. “We’re both fine. You?”
“Just a few scratches. My enemies look much worse.”
Gunnhild smiled, thinking again of Freyja’s words. “You sent many to dine with the gods today.”
Eirik jerked his head to the side. “It seems I’m not the only one.”
She looked in the direction he’d indicated and saw, lying on the deck of one of the large warships, a familiar figure, pale hair hiding her face, fingers limply curled around her iron staff.
“The battle was over by then, and no one had touched her,” Eirik said quietly. “She just—grasped at her throat and toppled over. As though choked by some invisible hand.”
“Two, actually.” Gunnhild looked down at the hands that had done the deed. Eirik hooked a finger under her chin and raised her eyes to his.
“I don’t know what you were doing while I was gone, but Olaf seemed to think your death was guaranteed. He said she’d see to it. But when she fell, I knew you’d won. Especially after I saw Oddny—”
“Yes. She and Halldor came back to help us. She saved my life—”
Something caught Eirik’s attention and he said, “Later,” and offered his arm. She took it and followed him to where Olaf and King Harald stood.
“My father arrived shortly after Arinbjorn’s fleet came through,” Eirik said as they walked. “And, as you can see, he’s not happy.”