Bjorn’s jaw worked back and forth, his eyes narrow and full of anger as he stood.
No, it was more than that.
He hated Ylva. Hated her more than could reasonably be justified by what I’d seen and heard. He opened his mouth and I tensed, sensing the words about to come out would be anything but an apology. But Bjorn only took a deep inhale, then let the breath out slowly.
Ylva crossed her arms, eyes narrowed. “I was grateful my husband was able to rescue you from our enemies, Bjorn, but every day, you test that gratitude.”
“Don’t lie to me, Ylva,” he retorted. “I know it angers you that I took Leif’s place as heir. But at least have the decency to own it rather than hiding behind false sentiment.”
“Fine!” she snarled. “I do not wish for you to inherit. You were gone too long and are more of a Nordelander than a Skalander. The people deserve to be ruled by one of their own. By a legitimate son!”
I clapped a hand to my mouth, shocked at her words, but Bjorn did not so much as blink.
“Enough!” Snorri shouted. “You will both cease in this pointless quarrel.”
Bjorn didn’t seem to have even heard his father, only lowered his head to Ylva’s level and said, “I heard you once said the same thing to my mother.”
I took a step back, for though I stood in the midst of this argument, I’d ceased to be part of it. All around, warriors and servants were doing their best to look anywhere but at the disagreement before them.
Ylva blanched at the accusation, but it was Snorri who roared, “Who told you this lie? Ylva was a friend to your mother, and you know it.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Bjorn twisted away. “It is history. It is done. Forget I said anything.”
Then he strode away into the darkness.
Snorri started in the direction Bjorn had gone, but Ylva caught his arm. “He won’t listen while he’s angry,” she said. “And the more you deny it, the more he’ll believe it’s true.”
“It was Harald,” Snorri seethed. “That’s his way. To whisper poison and lies into ears, twisting loyalties.”
“Likely so,” Ylva answered. “Which begs the question of what else he whispered in Bjorn’s ears during those long years your son was in his care.”
I ground my teeth. Even in this moment, Ylva was manipulating circumstances to her advantage. But at least Snorri seemed to see it. “Your relationship with Bjorn would be better if you weren’t always trying to find ways to discredit him. And to what end? To make Leif look good? I already know my son is a fine boy and will make a fine warrior, but he is not my firstborn. Is not the one Tyr chose to honor with a drop of blood.”
I took a step back, intending to seek out Bjorn, but immediately regretted moving when Ylva looked at me with a scowl, as though all this were my doing. Reaching into the pouch on her belt, she extracted a jar and tossed it at me. “Liv said you are to use this every night. It will ease the pain and stiffness so that you might remain of value. Now go find something useful to keep yourself busy.”
Shoving the salve pot in my pocket, I walked back to the fire where the thralls were working together to prepare a meal. Ylva had brought several of them, all about my age, and likely captured in raids of neighboring territories. Theirs was a hard life, and a short one, unless Ylva chose to make them free women at some point. “How might I help?”
One of them opened her mouth, probably to tell me that it was not necessary, so I swiftly said, “Ylva wishes for me to be useful.” The young woman gave her mistress a sideways glance, then handed me a spoon. “Stir from time to time.”
I dutifully obeyed, though my eyes kept drifting to the perimeter of the camp, waiting for Bjorn to reappear. What had he meant in his comment about his mother? Had Ylva somehow been involved in what had happened to her?
A million questions with no answers. Dipping the spoon into the stew, I tasted it and struggled not to make a face, for it was bland. Reaching for the tiny sacks of spice the women had left out, I added in salt and a few others, tasting it again and finding it more to my liking. “It’s ready.”
The women doled out bowls to everyone, and I sat apart while I ate my meal and stewed over my circumstances. When I was finished, I set my bowl aside and opened the salve Ylva had given me. The contents were waxy and pungent, but though the smell was not unpleasant, I sealed it.
“You actually need to use it for it to help.”
I twitched at Bjorn’s voice, having not heard him come out of the shadowed woods. He sat across the fire from me, picking up a stick and poking pensively at the embers before adding more wood. Then he looked up. “Well? Aren’t you going to put it on?”