If not for Heid, Gunnhild might have even started to agree.
You may have birthed me, Solveig, but you are not my mother.
“Yes. And King Harald’s successor has asked me to marry him,” she said. “King Eirik. He and Father have already shaken on it.”
Solveig’s gaze sharpened. “Is that so?”
“It is. Eirik has many powerful enemies, some of whom wield magic. He requires the assistance of an equally powerful witch to fight them off. And that, you see, is me.” Gunnhild’s voice rose with pride. “I’m to be queen, Mother. I’m to become the most powerful woman in Norway. And it’s all in spite of you.”
After a long moment, Solveig gave a deep, rasping chuckle, and Gunnhild’s hackles rose.
“Oh, my dear girl,” her mother drawled, “you’re confused. If that’s the case, it’s because of me that you’re in the position you’re in. If you hadn’t been so desperate to escape me, if I hadn’t driven you into the arms of that seeress, where would you be now?”
Gunnhild’s chest felt so tight she could barely breathe.
“So which is it, Mother?” she said. “Did you mistreat me or not?”
“But now you’ll be queen,” said Solveig, ignoring the questions. She was smug, but tiring; her head sank deeper into the pillow behind it. “You should be thanking me. It’s due to my so-called mistreatment that you’ve become what you are today. It made you stronger.”
Gunnhild could not believe her ears. She leaned over her mother and looked her dead in the eyes. She could feel the tears forming, but she did not blink, did not let them fall.
This woman would never see her cry. Not ever again.
“I would rather have been loved,” Gunnhild said, her voice breaking on the last word.
Solveig stared at her, wide-eyed, as if struck. Before she could react, Gunnhild reached under her pillow and slid out the rune stick she’d seen Yrsa create when she’d been spying as a swallow in the rafters.
The runes were correct. Yrsa had done her job well. But Solveig was too sick, and Yrsa was no witch. Whatever power she’d imbued into the carvings had run its course: A shallow crack had appeared down the length of the stick as proof. There was nothing more a healer on her own could do for Solveig. But Gunnhild could easily add her own power to the spell. Flip the stick over, carve some runes of her own. It would take only a moment. It could even save the woman’s life.
Or.
“These are well carved.” Gunnhild slid the rune stick back under her mother’s pillow and stood. “It’s a pity that their magic is spent.”
“Forgive me,” Solveig said, reaching for her again, her eyes half-lidded as fatigue claimed her once more. “Gunnhild. My daughter. Forgive me.”
Gunnhild was already halfway across the room by then.
“Goodbye, Mother.”
She did not look back.
* * *
—
SOLVEIG WAS DEAD BY morning. Gunnhild awoke to her father’s wailing, soon joined by that of Solveig’s loyal serving women as they stumbled from the bunk room and into their lady’s chamber, crowding the bed. Oddny and Gunnhild took this opportunity to dress, pack their things, and slip away without being noticed. Oddny said nothing, offering the same silent support as she had when they were children, and Gunnhild loved her for it.
What she loved less was that Oddny had to support her as she walked. She was paying the price of overexerting herself the day before, and would be for some days to come. But as they left the hall and approached Eirik and his men, Gunnhild bade Oddny move away; she couldn’t appear weak in front of them.
“The ship is ready to sail. We leave after breakfast,” Eirik said. He and the hird were eating outside, likely to escape the melancholy that Solveig’s death had cast over the household.
“Good,” said Gunnhild. “Excellent.” She reached into her pouch and pulled out the antler coin along with a small clay jar. “The bindrune, as promised. And a bit of salve for your palm. When I took the oath with Oddny and Signy, my cut began to fester before Heid healed it. I’m certain my friends’ mother did the same for them.”
“I told you palm wounds were inconvenient.” He took the salve but not the bit of antler. “Hold on to that for now. You can give it to Runfrid yourself when we arrive, now that you’re coming with us.”
She nodded and tucked it away, and when she looked back up, he was regarding her with a look she found impossible to decipher.
“Do you wish to stay to see her buried?” he asked.
No preamble, no softness, no condolences. She couldn’t tell him how much she appreciated that.
“No,” she said. “I don’t. I wish to go south today as planned.”
“As you say,” said the king, turning to his men. “Meet at the ship when you’re finished eating.” He started toward the dock, and Gunnhild found herself stumbling after him.
“Eirik,” she said.
He turned back to her.
“Thank you,” she said, straightening. “For not saying you’re sorry for my loss. For not saying ‘but she’s your mother.’ For not—for not making me feel like a monster. If you would continue to treat with me as though nothing has changed, I’d be glad of it.”
He looked unsure for a moment. “I—you’re welcome. Of course.” And as she turned to go, he added, “Do you know what they intend to bury her in?”
Gunnhild stopped. “Her best clothes, I would imagine. Why?”
“I’d advise you to go through what’s left.” He regarded her shabby, patched dress. “Unless, of course, you intend to meet my father in that.”
Her mouth hung open.
“What?” he asked. “It’s not like she’s using them—”
“You insensitive— My mother just died.”
He blinked. “Yes, and you told me to act like nothing has changed, so which is it? Do you want me to be sensitive or not?”
Gunnhild pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and took a breath. How could she even begin to untangle the complicated feelings she was having about her mother’s death, let alone explain them to someone else? Luckily, she didn’t have to: When she slid her hands down her face and let them drop to her sides, she saw that Eirik had quietly moved on and Oddny had come forward to stand beside her.
“Gunna,” Oddny said. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Gunnhild replied, taking her hand and squeezing it. “Come. Let’s go.”
17
GUNNHILD KNEW THAT ODDNY had never traveled on such a large ship before, but she could tell that the novelty of it had worn off for her friend as quickly as it had for her when she’d first come on board. They were cold and miserable as they sat huddled under their sea-cloaks against the biting wind and sea spray.
But the weather was good and the sailing was easy, the coast always within sight. When the sun was low on the horizon, a few of the men expressed surprise that they weren’t going to seek hospitality with a farmer or nearby jarl, but all Eirik said was, “I’m tired of being around people.”
“But what if there’s another storm?” one of the men asked uneasily, looking up at the clear sky as if certain the weather would change at any moment.