“I’m sorry,” she said, pressing her hands to her eyes in an attempt to stay her tears. “I didn’t mean it. I just—I couldn’t lose you. The very thought—”
“You mean you couldn’t lose your position,” Eirik said snidely. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten the reason you finally agreed to work with me.”
She swallowed a sob. This was so close to Oddny’s accusation that it threatened to break her. Is this what they truly think of me? That all I care about is power?
“I should have let you leave at Winternights as you wanted to.” Eirik turned to walk away. “Get your things and go back to Oddny. I’m sure you’ll find passage to Birka at Tunsberg. We’re through.”
“Oddny doesn’t want to see me again.”
He stopped and pivoted to face her. “What?”
“She loves Halldor, and I would’ve seen him die. I’ve lost her forever.” She hung her head. “It seems that, in choosing you, I’ve lost you both.”
She heard his footsteps approaching her, and when she raised her eyes to look at him, he stopped and lowered his hand, as though he’d been about to reach for her and reconsidered. Her heart sank until she looked him in the eyes and saw the smallest flicker of life.
“I need time, Gunnsa,” he said at last, softly, turning once again to go. “We’ll speak on this when we return to Hordaland.”
The relief that the nickname evoked in her was short-lived, for just beyond him she saw a flash of white as a small fox darted away between the trees. Gunnhild’s chest constricted. Had Thorbjorg known of Halldor’s parentage when she’d brought them here, or had she merely been looking to make trouble? It didn’t matter either way, she supposed.
Thorbjorg had won.
* * *
—
NO ONE SPOKE TO Gunnhild on the journey back to Hordaland, and she spent most of the voyage huddled in the tent with a bucket on her lap, for her nausea and vomiting had returned with a vengeance the morning they departed.
When they arrived, she learned that King Harald had gone to Avaldsnes as planned but Thora had stayed behind. In the short time Eirik and Gunnhild had been gone, little Hakon had been sent to foster with the king of England, and Thora had remained behind at Alreksstadir in protest. Arinbjorn and Runfrid still hadn’t returned.
But it turned out that the estate had welcomed new visitors: Alf and Eyvind were waiting for her in the main hall.
Gunnhild nearly dropped her witching bag when she saw her brothers. They looked so old, though they were only ten years her senior. Alf was going bald and Eyvind’s red hair was streaked with gold at the temples, and the prominent noses they’d inherited from their father had somehow become even more so—but they were here. And she didn’t care that she hadn’t seen them in more than a decade, didn’t care that they’d been absent for most of her childhood, didn’t care that they’d even gone so far as to trivialize Solveig’s contempt for her the last time they’d seen one another.
In that moment, the sight of two friendly faces was like a ray of sunlight through dark clouds, and she ran for them and threw an arm around each of them at once. They were shorter than she remembered; she was of a height with them now.
“Little Gunna,” said Alf. “You’ve gotten taller.”
“Look at you!” said Eyvind. “Queen Gunnhild.”
“What—what are you doing here?” she asked as she withdrew.
“We were traveling in the south when we received word that Father had died,” said Alf, and winced at the look on her face. “You didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“It was peaceful,” Eyvind said gently. “Vigdis told us he went to sleep one night after Yule and never woke up.”
Gunnhild blinked back tears. For all his faults, she knew that Ozur had cared for her, and now it seemed as though the last part of her old life had crumbled into the sea: Her father’s hall without her father in it was incomprehensible. He’d been a fixture in the islands along the coast of Halogaland as long as anyone could remember. But Solveig had been his one and only love for almost fifty winters; it wasn’t surprising that he’d taken less than a season to follow her to the grave.
“Ulfrun passed, too, not long after you left,” Alf added. “Vigdis said she thanked the gods with her dying breath that she got to see you one last time.”
“I see.” If the news of her father’s death had been a knife through her heart, that of her old nursemaid’s twisted it. Gunnhild attempted to compose herself before asking, “And who is hersir now?”
“Well, one of us was supposed to be—but when we heard that not only were you alive but also married to a king, we decided that our sisters’ husbands could fight over the title.” Eyvind turned to Eirik, who’d been lurking a few steps behind his wife. “I’m Eyvind Ozurarson, and this is my brother, Alf. We wish to swear ourselves into your service.”
Eirik considered them. “I’ve heard of you. I’d be glad to have two men of your reputations in my hird, once you prove to me that you can be trusted.” These were the most words she’d heard out of him since Vestfold. Then he spotted someone across the hall and stiffened. “Excuse me.”
He took his leave, and Gunnhild’s eyes followed him to where Thorolf stood in a corner. Alf and Eyvind were saying something to her, but she barely heard it. She watched the reunion between her husband and her former lover without hearing what they were saying, both of them standing rigid as if squaring off, until Thorolf turned and gestured at the folded sailcloth behind him—a gift from his father, perhaps, as thanks for the axe, but from what Gunnhild had heard of Skallagrim she rather doubted it. At this point Eirik seemed to soften, and the conversation continued for another few moments before the two men suddenly embraced.
Gunnhild knew she should be relieved that they seemed to have patched things up, but she felt only guilt that her presence had torn them apart in the first place. Feeling ready to vomit again, she excused herself from her brothers and made her way across the crowded hall to her chamber. It seemed that every person on the estate had gathered for the hird’s return, but the looks that followed her were no longer as kind as when she’d left, and the whispers were even less so:
“—she’s out to ruin King Eirik—King Harald knew we couldn’t trust her—”
“—I heard she’s really from a Danish court, placed in Norway to spy—”
“—well, I heard she was engaged to two sorcerers in Finnmark and then had them killed so she could go seduce the king—”
Already the foul rumors had started.
Fighting down her panic, she finally swept into her chamber and closed the door behind her, leaned against it. When the cats came up to greet her, she shooed them away. She’d nearly succeeded in calming herself before she decided to cross the room and grope about in the mattress until she found her contraceptive charm. And when she pulled it out, she felt ill for an entirely different reason.
There was a line through the runes. How long had their magic been spent? When was the last time she’d checked to make sure the charm was in effect?