Oddny stared hard at her, willing herself not to cry. More than a week had passed since the raid, and every day she’d put on her bravest face as she helped around the farm and made teas and tinctures for those who needed them. But every night her grief, and the guilt at surviving the raid unharmed—a free woman still, while somewhere far away her sister was surely in shackles—threatened to crush the air from her lungs. For all that she itched to put her rescue plan into motion the moment Halldor paid her, there were times when none of it seemed real: that Signy was gone; that her mother and brother were dead; that if she looked across the strait she would be able to make out the mound where they lay instead of the outline of her father’s hall.
But Signy was alive. Oddny knew it. And she had kept her plan close to her chest, as though cupping her hands around a tiny flame in the darkness, shielding it from her own despair. She’d assumed beyond a doubt that she would be finding her sister on her own. But now . . .
“You’re going to help me save her?” she whispered.
Gunnhild’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, as though anything less were out of the question. “We swore an oath, Oddny. I don’t intend to break it. And since Eirik didn’t want my silver, I can put it toward Signy’s rescue.”
Oddny took a quavering breath. “Thank you.”
Gunnhild smiled. “Of course. And hopefully what I find out from the spirits will corroborate what Halldor has told you, if he knows what’s good for him.”
“I’m telling the truth,” Halldor said, exasperated.
“We’ll see,” said Gunnhild, rising to her feet. “And so help me, if you’re lying to us, I will know, and you will pay for it.”
Halldor did not seem intimidated in the least. “Duly noted.”
“Gunna,” Oddny said, hope flaring bright in her chest, “if you have the silver, then—once we know where she is, do you think we can make it to her before winter?”
“That was my plan,” Gunnhild said. “Why do you think I was in such a hurry to get back here?”
Oddny let out a sob and clamped a hand over her mouth, but Halldor said, “No sailor in their right mind would agree to a long voyage so late in the season unless you plan to winter at your destination—”
“We’ll worry about that once we know precisely where she is.” Gunnhild’s gaze moved to a dark figure making its way across the lawn toward the boathouse. “Now, if you two will excuse me, I have something to attend to. Oddny, shall I walk you back to the hall first?”
Oddny stood. “Yes. Good night, Halldor.”
“Good night, Oddny. Gunnhild,” Halldor replied, and when Oddny looked over her shoulder at him, he was still watching her as they walked away.
Once they were out of earshot, Gunnhild said, “You trust this man?”
“I do,” Oddny said after a moment’s hesitation. “He could’ve been long gone by now. I truly think he means to pay me back, which makes me think he has no reason to lie.”
“Then that’s good enough for me.” Gunnhild stopped just around the corner from the door near the hanging lantern that illuminated the threshold, and she gave her a firm hug, which Oddny returned with feeling. “I’ll see you in the morning. Good night, Oddny.”
“Good night.” With that, Gunnhild rounded the corner, leaving Oddny with a renewed sense of determination.
We will find you, Signy, she thought as she went back inside. Together. Just hold on.
13
MORNING FOUND GUNNHILD CURLED up in Oddny’s bunk, back to back with her, just as they’d sometimes slept as children when visiting each other’s farms.
Oddny sat up slowly and assessed her body for aches and pains. Her cycle was almost over, so today was the first day since she’d arrived at Ozur’s that she thought she might be able to skip her tea. But she’d certainly have to wash out the makeshift contraption she’d sewn hastily to catch her blood; the garment was made up of wool layers that ran from her navel to the small of her back, both ends sewn to a thin whipcord-braided belt. Wearing it made walking a bit awkward, but at least she wouldn’t bleed through it and ruin the only dress she owned.
She crawled over Gunnhild and out of bed. The servants who slept in the bunk room were still asleep. As Oddny pulled on her socks and shoes, Gunnhild stirred.
“I’m fetching breakfast,” Oddny said softly. “Would you like anything?”
“No, thank you. I’m going to fast until the ritual tonight.”
“So you’re going to be grumpy all day.”
Gunnhild yanked the pillow over her head. “Yes. I’m used to going without food as part of my training, but a week among these men has spoiled me.”
“That’s not surprising—you can tell by looking at them that they don’t skip meals.” Oddny bent over and fastened the toggles on her shoes. “Why must you fast? Spiritual reasons?”
“Yes, yes,” Gunnhild said with a wave of her hand, voice muffled by the pillow. “But more practically, because if I have an empty stomach, I’ll need less henbane to dislodge my mind from my body.”
“Henbane? Gunna, that’s poisonous.”
Gunnhild lifted the pillow enough to peek up at her. “Yes, if you take too much. So—fasting. And meditation. I’ll have to find someplace quiet to sit out and think before the ritual as well. Clear my mind and all that, and work on my payment for Eirik for taking me here. I’ve nearly finished it, and I can’t wait to be free of any obligation to that man.”
Once Oddny had done her laundry, she ate a boiled egg in the cookhouse and helped Vigdis and the other girls prepare food for their guests. Soon enough her arm was sore from turning the quern to grind grain. It was difficult for her to believe that serving this many additional people would hardly put a dent in Ozur’s winter stores, but no one seemed particularly concerned about feeding thirty extra mouths for three entire days.
She was so busy working that when Gunnhild arrived at midday and asked if she wanted to come watch the men spar, Oddny was surprised at how much time had passed. Vigdis gave her leave to go and thanked her for her help.
The practice yard next to the armory was a wide fenced-in circle of dirt in the grass, completely unremarkable except for the men who fought within it, weapons glinting in the sun. Eirik’s hird and Ozur’s men were there, along with several men Oddny had never seen before, as well as a cluster of serving women and the teenage boys who tended Ozur’s armory.
“Match to Svein!” they heard Arinbjorn shout as they approached.
“What happened to meditating?” Oddny asked Gunnhild.
Her friend waved a hand. “I can do that later. I want to see Eirik get smacked with sharp objects, but I’ll settle for blunt ones. One good hit and I’ll be satisfied.”
They wove between the gathered men and claimed a spot next to Arinbjorn against the fence.
“So, what’s all this?” Gunnhild asked him, gesturing to where Svein the skald and a man Oddny didn’t recognize were exiting the field.
“A rite of passage,” Arinbjorn replied. “The man Svein just fought came from one of the islands nearby, trying to join the hird. And more will arrive before we leave. First comes a steel test, then a probationary period, and then, if Eirik likes them well enough, they get one of these.” He flicked the gold arm ring on his bicep. “To make it official.”