Oddny knew it was easier to pretend Gunnhild was dead than acknowledge whatever had truly happened to her. She hoped the old man felt guilty about it.
“Oddny here was her dear friend,” Ozur went on. “Her sister, Signy, whom your party captured, was as well. Their father, Ketil, was an old friend of mine, and her mother, Yrsa, was in the process of healing my wife from a grievous illness when your people slew her.”
Halldor’s expression grew darker with each word as the gravity of his situation sank in. Good, Oddny thought.
“Which is all to say that I cannot let Oddny go uncared for,” Ozur finished. “I feel it’s only fair that you pay the price for your fellows’ deeds, as you were the only one of them captured.”
“Am I a prisoner here, Ozur Eyvindsson?” Halldor asked slowly.
“Until you compensate Oddny for her losses, yes.”
Those pale green eyes flitted to the woman in question, then back to the hersir. “And how much do I owe her?”
Ozur sucked his teeth as he thought. Then he said, “Twelve marks of silver,” and Oddny’s jaw dropped. One mark of silver was a respectable dowry, but twelve?
Meanwhile, Halldor had gone pale. He spooned the last of the stew into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. But, to his credit, he did not argue.
“Then I suppose I need to improve my smithing,” he said.
“A fine idea,” said Ozur as he rose, gripping his cane. “Or else you’ll be here for a very long time. My men will show you to the forge. You may bunk there with the other smiths. Excuse me.”
He made for the anteroom as Halldor stood as well and was led away. Oddny followed Ozur into the family’s chamber and closed the door behind her. Solveig was asleep, looking paler than she had earlier. Her husband sat down heavily on the bed beside her and gave a tired sigh.
“Ozur, thank you—you didn’t have to—twelve marks is—” Oddny began, but when the elderly hersir looked up at her, he had tears in his eyes.
“It was nothing. I wished to do for you what I couldn’t for my little Gunna, Oddny Ketilsdottir,” he whispered. “To give you a good life. Your father would have done the same for any of my girls. It doesn’t absolve me of my role in driving Gunnhild to do what she did . . .” He looked to Solveig, then back to Oddny. “But it’s something.”
Oddny couldn’t bring herself to confess to him what she intended to spend the silver on the moment Halldor put it in her hands. Better to let Ozur think he was securing her future.
She only nodded and ducked out of the room before he could see her cry.
* * *
—
TWELVE MARKS OF SILVER, Oddny thought to herself for the rest of the day as she sat spinning outside under the awning with Ulfrun and a few of the other women. Keeping her hands busy normally soothed her, but her mind was a storm.
Twelve marks. It was outrageous.
Outrageous enough to get her exactly what she wanted.
The horrors of the past few days had faded; the moment she’d realized that Halldor was her only link to Signy, it was as though a veil had lifted and she could see clearly once more. It allowed her to push aside the mountain of grief that threatened to crush her every time she thought too long about the raid and to replace it with a fierce determination to find her sister, the only family she had, one of the only people left in this world whom she cared about.
I’m of no use to her in this state, she told herself. I must carry on.
There would be time to mourn their family—together—once Signy was safe. But there was one more piece that had to fall into place, and it involved more than Halldor’s silver: She’d need his cooperation, too.
So when she noticed him leaving the hall alone after supper the next evening, she followed.
“Halldor Hallgrimsson,” she called just before he reached the smithy. “I would have a word with you.”
He stopped and turned, eyes moving down to the blade at her belt. Now that his hair was fully dry, it was more curly than wavy, framing his sunburned face in a way that accentuated his sharp cheekbones. His mouth drew into a thin line as he regarded her.
“So long as you keep that little knife of yours in its sheath,” he said warily. “Although it’d be unwise to maim me, as it could prevent me from paying you the exorbitant amount of silver I owe you.”
“Exorbitant?” Oddny seethed. “I think it’s a fair price for my losses.”
“Well, I wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t let you go,” he shot back. “It lost us half our pay, so Kolfinna decided to feed me to Ran once we were far enough out at sea.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in.
But when Oddny finally spoke, she exploded.
“Half your pay? You were paid to raid our farm?” She shouted the words so loudly that a flock of birds pecking about nearby took wing. “Why? By whom?”
“I don’t—wait.” Halldor took a step back from her, palms up, as she drew her knife and stalked toward him, leveling the tip at his throat. “Put that down.”
“Not until you explain.”
“Let’s be civil about this, shall we?”
Oddny said nothing and kept her knife raised.
“I see we’re past civility, then,” Halldor said dryly.
“Well past,” said Oddny. “Speak. Now.”
“Listen. I’m sorry, all right?” he blurted. “For the part I played in what happened. It was nothing personal. Now could you please put that knife away?”
“Nothing personal?” she echoed shrilly.
Halldor’s nostrils flared and he kept his hands up. “All I know is that a witch hired us to raid your farm. Said her friends would obscure our ship and grant us a swift wind. In and out—that was the deal. You and your sister were the targets, but we were told we could plunder the farm and kill or capture anyone else we wished.”
“Who was this witch? And if you’re telling the truth, you could very well kill me and cart me off in a rowboat to rejoin your friends and get out of your debt to me. How do I know you won’t?”
Halldor eyed the knife. “I’m through with them.”
“And why is that?”
“You’ll just have to trust me.”
“Forgive me if I don’t. Now tell me about the witch.”
Halldor shook his head. “She dealt only with Kolfinna. She was a fox.”
“The witch was a fox?”
“Yes, and her friend was an eagle. Everyone knows witches can shape-shift. The fox seemed to talk to Kolfinna, but only in her head. If I were making this up, wouldn’t I come up with something more plausible?”
Oddny was still skeptical. “All right. Let’s say I believe you. But . . . what reason could anyone possibly have to attack us?” She hated the tears that sprang to her eyes, hated the way the knife shook in her hand as she continued to hold it aloft, and especially hated the way her voice cracked as she asked, “What did we do to deserve this?”
“Look, you’re asking the wrong person. Now will you put the knife down? I can’t pay you back if you cut my throat.”
Oddny reluctantly lowered her weapon and sheathed it. “How do I know you won’t try to escape in the night before your debt is paid?”