“Understood. One bindrune for passage to my father’s. Do we have a deal?”
She stood and stuck out her hand; he took it and shook once. His touch sent a jolt up her arm, but she didn’t dare pull away before it was proper, and was grateful when he withdrew first. She didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing he’d unnerved her.
“I’ll get to work first thing tomorrow,” Gunnhild said. “I’m worried about overexerting myself tonight after my spell earlier.”
“Fine. We’re preparing the ship to leave at first light.” Eirik turned to head back toward camp.
“Good.” She grimaced and muttered to herself, “I just have to hope that damned Thorbjorg stays out of my head until I’m finished.”
Eirik stopped short and whirled around, his pale eyes wide and full of the same suspicion with which he’d first looked upon her earlier that day. “How do you know that name?”
Though she feared she already knew, she said, “Why do you ask?”
“Because it’s the name of a woman who works for my brother,” he said through his teeth. “She’s been after me for years. She’s the cause of all my troubles.”
Thorbjorg works for his brother?! “So it’s not a coincidence after all,” Gunnhild said under her breath. She sat back down on the stump, resting her chin in her hand as she considered this.
Eirik did not share her calm.
“I knew it. I was right,” he blustered. “This was all a trick—you’re working together. I should never have listened to Arinbjorn. I should have killed you the moment I saw you.”
He drew his seax, and she looked up at him, then at his weapon, and back to his face, which was contorted with loathing.
“Sheathe that blade,” she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Honestly. Were you even listening? I’m using the bindrune on myself, too. To protect against her.”
Eirik blinked a few times, put the seax away, and then sat down heavily on the fallen tree across from where Gunnhild sat on the stump.
“What has she done to you?” he asked warily.
“You first,” she said. “I only just met her yesterday. You said she’s been after you for years—why?”
“It’s a long story.”
“And I would hear you tell it.”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“The beginning should suffice.”
Eirik looked down at his feet. Gunnhild waited.
“My father has many children with many different wives,” he said at last. “When my eldest brothers were old enough, they started making noise about all of us having our own regions to govern. He divided up the country and placed us above the jarls but beneath him.”
Gunnhild knew this from her childhood—though by her reckoning, Eirik must have been young indeed when his father placed upon him and his brothers the title of petty king.
“But he’s always favored me, and he’d already chosen me as his successor,” Eirik went on. “As you can imagine, my brothers have never been particularly happy about this. My strengths lie in fighting, not politics. It’s all I know. I’ve been raiding since I was twelve winters old. I’ve killed more men than I can count.”
Gunnhild had to admit she was surprised by his self-awareness, but she couldn’t stop herself from adding, “Including your own brother.”
“Two of them, actually,” Eirik said. When Gunnhild’s eyes widened, he told her about the deaths of King Bjorn of Vestfold nine winters ago, and the witch Rognvald two winters later. The explanation for Rognvald’s death was not a surprise after what Thorolf had told her, but the other—
“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “You killed King Bjorn and looted his town because he refused to let you be the one to bring his taxes to your father? What were you trying to prove?”
“Back then, I would’ve done anything to look superior to my brothers, if only to show my father that he was right in choosing me to succeed him. That’s why when he told me he wanted Rognvald killed, I had no choice but to do it. If I hadn’t, one of my other brothers would’ve, and then he’d be the favorite.”
“Oh, and we couldn’t have that, now, could we?”
He glared at her but let the comment slide. “My slaying of Rognvald is also the reason not even witches from among the Sámi will aid us. I’ve sent out messengers to entreat every group we know of, but all of them have refused.”
“Yes, I don’t suppose you endeared yourself to the Sámi by murdering one of Snaefrid’s sons. Tell me—did your father make the right decision in choosing you? It seems you solve all your problems at the point of a sword, and care little for the bonds of kinship.”
“Don’t pass judgment on me. All my brothers are half brothers. We didn’t grow up together. We only see each other a few times a year, if that. My hirdsmen are brothers to me more than anyone. Just because my father’s other sons are kin to me doesn’t mean I hold any love for them.”
Gunnhild almost knew how he felt. Her siblings had always been no better than strangers to her. Still, she couldn’t see herself ever killing them—or anyone else, for that matter.
Besides Thorbjorg, of course.
“The law doesn’t care whether or not you loved them. They were still your kin,” she said.
“And when my brothers kill me, they’ll be kinslayers, too. Your point?”
“What does any of this have to do with Thorbjorg?”
“I’m getting there.” Eirik heaved an aggravated sigh. “My half brother Olaf took over rule of Vestfold upon Bjorn’s death. He’s Bjorn’s full brother and swore vengeance upon me. My brother Halfdan has taken up the cause as well. He’s one of the kings of Trondheim, and he’s also my father’s oldest living son, so he believes the rule of Norway should belong to him.”
Gunnhild was beginning to see how bad this situation truly was. Trondheim and Vestfold were two of the most powerful districts in the country. It was unwise to make enemies of their kings.
“Did you offer Olaf compensation?” It wasn’t uncommon to settle killings through the legal system rather than revenge, though doing so wouldn’t necessarily end a blood feud. And if a feud started within a family, things could get complicated very quickly; it was part of why kinslaying was such an ugly crime.
“I have,” Eirik said sullenly. “Many times. And he’s refused.”
Gunnhild grimaced. “I see. Well, if it’s been nine winters, why wait so long to attack?”
“Because my father would be furious enough to dethrone both of them. As I said, I’m his favorite. But he’s getting older, and soon he’ll be too old to intervene on my behalf. So in the meantime, my brothers send their witches to toy with me and sow chaos and mistrust wherever I go. Until this summer, it’s only been small things: farms I own being blighted when the others in the region are unaffected. Holes appearing in the hulls of my ships in the middle of the sea when I know for certain they’d been checked and checked again before departure. But the attack on me and on my men in Bjarmaland—that was too far. It makes me think that things are about to escalate.”