Oddny gave a silent, horrified shake of her head, so Runfrid said loudly, “Ulla, will you come help me choose a tea? I’ve got them up in the loft.”
Once they’d ascended, both of them looked over the edge and made encouraging motions at Oddny. Traitors, she thought indignantly.
With a silent sigh, Oddny approached the hearth and sat down on the stool opposite Halldor. He’d been at the disablot, for a few specks of blood dotted the side of his face, but now he was dressed in clothing she hadn’t seen him wear before: a tunic of heavy green wool, and brown pants. Both items were of good quality, but patched in places and slightly oversized for his slim frame. His worn shoes, his faded red leg wraps, and the seax in its scuffed sheath at his belt remained just as shabby as on the fateful day she’d met him. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal sinewy forearms, and as he worked, she caught a glimpse of Gunnhild’s tiny bindrune where it had been tattooed just below his elbow.
When Halldor spoke to her at last, his tone was dry.
“These clothes are borrowed, if that’s what you’re going to say.” He still hadn’t looked up from his work. “I haven’t earned any silver yet, so you needn’t worry that I’m trying to get out of what I owe, or spending what should be in your coin pouch.”
“That’s not what I was going to say,” Oddny said defensively.
His pale green eyes flitted up, and she hated the feeling that stirred in her belly when his piercing gaze met hers. Someone had reshaved the side of his head to reveal the salmon in all its faded glory, though the hair hadn’t grown in much since Oddny had shaved it in the bunk room at Ozur’s hall.
She asked, “Did you do that yourself? It looks better.”
Halldor reached up and touched the shaved patch. “Runfrid did it. She’s going to freshen up my tattoo before she leaves for the winter.” He held up one of the half-finished arrows and added, “And before you say anything about how I can afford it, we came to terms.”
A shuffling sound from the loft, and Runfrid’s voice: “It’s more than a fair trade to me. I love shooting arrows but hate making them.”
Oddny picked up one of the arrowheads and examined it. “Did you smith these yourself?”
“I did.” Halldor lowered his voice. “They’re not very good. Don’t tell her.”
“I heard that,” said Runfrid from above.
Halldor set his unfinished arrow in the bucket and looked to Oddny. “But none of that is why you sat down to talk to me.”
Oddny cleared her throat. “No, it’s not. I need a favor.”
“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow—the one shot through with the scars from Gunnhild’s tiny talons. “What kind of favor? And would you be willing to lower my debt if I agree?”
“A relatively easy one, and yes,” Oddny said. “By a mark.”
Now he raised both eyebrows. “A whole mark?”
“Gunnhild can use her own silver to rescue Signy now, so I can spare mine for a task this important,” Oddny said. “I trust you saw Olaf’s and Halfdan’s witches at the sacrifice tonight.”
“They’re difficult to miss,” Halldor said. “The hird’s been on edge since they arrived, and from what Eirik has said, his father doesn’t believe they’re at fault for anything that’s happened.” He rubbed his chin. “Which is curious, because King Harald hates witchcraft. You’d think he’d be more prone to believing such accusations if it meant he could swing a sword at a witch first and investigate the truth of her crimes later.”
“I hadn’t thought about that.” Runfrid descended the ladder with a small linen sack clutched between her teeth, Ulla following close behind her with a small clay pot of honey, and dumped the contents of the sack into the now-boiling water. “It does seem odd, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe something is staying his hand. Do you think someone is trying to discredit Eirik?” Ulla suggested. “Whispering in his father’s ear?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time King Harald’s mind has been swayed by nothing but rumors,” Runfrid said, a dark look crossing her face. “Remind me to tell you sometime what happened to Thorolf’s uncle.”
From her tone of voice alone, Oddny decided she didn’t want to know.
Runfrid ladled the tea into cups and handed them out, and as Ulla passed around the honeypot, Halldor said, “So, you were saying, Oddny . . .? This favor you need . . .?”
“Right.” Oddny inhaled the scent of the tea—dandelion root—and lowered her steaming cup. “I need you to watch the witches on the third feast night. Make sure they don’t leave the hall, and if they do, follow them. And if they’re up to anything suspicious, come to the workshop immediately and tell us.”
“Why?” Halldor asked.
“Because Gunnhild is going to be performing a ritual to see if the spirits will tell her where Signy has been sold to. With luck, we won’t need to go to Birka at all. But King Harald will be furious if he finds out, so no one can know. And Gunnhild says Thorbjorg and Katla might wish to cause some mischief for her, so we need to make sure they stay put until the ritual is complete.”
Halldor bit the inside of his cheek and considered this. “Lower it by a mark and a half—make it an even ten marks that I owe you—and it’s a deal.”
“Fine. I’ll cut your debt to ten marks. Will you do it?”
After a moment, Halldor nodded once and stuck out his hand, and Oddny shook it. Unlike the first time they’d shaken on a deal—when she’d agreed to decrease his debt in exchange for what was still currently the only lead they had on Signy—she found that the feel of his hand in hers wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Once she and Ulla had finished their tea, they bade Runfrid and Halldor good night and went back out into the cold. Halldor gave her a lingering look as the door shut behind them, and Oddny shook herself, thinking she’d seen something there that she must have imagined.
But she couldn’t get Halldor’s eyes out of her mind, or that simple, innocent touch of his hand. Why was she thinking of him this way? This man had participated in the heinous act that had resulted in the destruction of her family and farm and the kidnapping of her sister—and yet, hadn’t Ozur been right that any raider could have easily ended up in the same position? Hadn’t nearly every free man on this very estate gone on the raids at least once?
Besides, Halldor had apologized. He was honorable—he’d made that much clear. But he couldn’t undo the raid. He couldn’t bring her mother and brother back.
I’m not fond of him, she told herself, and not for the first time. He owes me money and he’s agreed to do me a favor. That’s all.
Ulla stopped halfway to the workshop and tilted her head back to admire the full moon. “What a strange night.”
Oddny stopped beside her and grimaced. “I have a feeling it’s only the first of many.”
23
THE SECOND FESTIVAL DAY was much the same as the first, with plenty of drinking, gossiping, and games—except that now, instead of drifting unnoticed through the crowds, Gunnhild seemed to draw someone’s attention everywhere she turned.