see the king.” Hild’s mother’s voice held quiet authority. “You will take us to him now.”
Both men straightened and bowed. Holding her breath, Hild followed her mother, stepping between the two soldiers, who fell into place just to the edges of her line of sight.
It was the Between Time, the day more dark than light, when birds would be settling into their nests, and mothers putting sleepy children to bed. Yet in the dusk ahead of her, a group of children and slaves crowded beside the lane to the hall. She looked at them curiously, wondering what they were doing out at this time of day, before realizing they were watching her and whispering to each other. Of course. They must have heard that she’d killed the Bronding, but they didn’t know why. They didn’t know how close the kingdom had come to losing the heir to the throne.
Did Beyla know? She was still with her granny, but surely someone had told her.
At Freyja’s temple, a group of women stood in the doorway, watching silently. The two nearest her—Groa, her cousin’s wife, and Jord, who had taught Hild a complicated knot to use in her weaving—looked away when Hild glanced at them. It wasn’t their fault, she told herself;they didn’t know what had happened. She focused straight ahead, wishing she didn’t feel so rattled.
Outside the hall, another crowd awaited them, men, women, and children trying their best to see inside the wide hall doors, their faces dark shapes in the twilight. The sight of a little boy jumping up and down repeatedly in a vain attempt to see over the broad backs of the three men blocking his view made a bubble of laughter form in her chest—until she remembered. She had killed a man.
At the broad doors of Gyldenseld, hall guards pushed people out of the way with their spear butts. Garwulf was one of them—he must have had only a few hours of rest before returning to duty. Hild looked at him, hoping for a hint of acknowledgment. He wouldn’t think it proper to recognize her while he was standing guard, she knew, but it wouldn’t hurt just this once, would it? Angrily, she turned her gaze away.
Her mother, a half step behind her, gave Hild’s fingers a squeeze.
Then they entered the hall.
Flickering torches lined the walls, and in the long pit that stretched up the center of the structure, all the fires had been lit. Smoke rose to the holes in the thatch high above. Past the banners and beams and mead benches lining the long tables on either side of the fire pit, men crowded around the dais. Someone must have signaled to them, because as Hild tried to calm herself, they turned to look at her, theirfaces half red, half shadow in the light of the flames. Silence fell.
Suddenly, a sense of unfamiliarity gripped her, as if the hall where she’d spent her entire life, where she’d played as a child and grown into a young woman, where everyone knew and respected her, were a foreign place. As if she no longer belonged here. Cold air collected around her, fingering at her neck. Somewhere outside a dog barked. Another answered it.
Hild took a deep breath and started forward. As her feet touched the wooden hall floor, the sensation left her and she began to feel at home again, despite the unusual hush. Her shoes barely made a sound on the floorboards—her skirts whispered more loudly. She stared ahead at the group of men and held her spine straight, her head high, willing herself not to look at people’s faces. Not to look for Arinbjörn.
Where was he? She didn’t remember seeing him after … She closed her eyes to erase the memory of the expression on his face, the look he’d given her.
She wished he would step out from the crowd to walk beside her, but neither he nor anyone else did. No matter: soon he would know the truth and everything would be as it was before.
She reached back for her mother’s hand, but her fingers met air. She stiffened. There was no one behind her. She was on her own.
Ahead of her, her
Both men straightened and bowed. Holding her breath, Hild followed her mother, stepping between the two soldiers, who fell into place just to the edges of her line of sight.
It was the Between Time, the day more dark than light, when birds would be settling into their nests, and mothers putting sleepy children to bed. Yet in the dusk ahead of her, a group of children and slaves crowded beside the lane to the hall. She looked at them curiously, wondering what they were doing out at this time of day, before realizing they were watching her and whispering to each other. Of course. They must have heard that she’d killed the Bronding, but they didn’t know why. They didn’t know how close the kingdom had come to losing the heir to the throne.
Did Beyla know? She was still with her granny, but surely someone had told her.
At Freyja’s temple, a group of women stood in the doorway, watching silently. The two nearest her—Groa, her cousin’s wife, and Jord, who had taught Hild a complicated knot to use in her weaving—looked away when Hild glanced at them. It wasn’t their fault, she told herself;they didn’t know what had happened. She focused straight ahead, wishing she didn’t feel so rattled.
Outside the hall, another crowd awaited them, men, women, and children trying their best to see inside the wide hall doors, their faces dark shapes in the twilight. The sight of a little boy jumping up and down repeatedly in a vain attempt to see over the broad backs of the three men blocking his view made a bubble of laughter form in her chest—until she remembered. She had killed a man.
At the broad doors of Gyldenseld, hall guards pushed people out of the way with their spear butts. Garwulf was one of them—he must have had only a few hours of rest before returning to duty. Hild looked at him, hoping for a hint of acknowledgment. He wouldn’t think it proper to recognize her while he was standing guard, she knew, but it wouldn’t hurt just this once, would it? Angrily, she turned her gaze away.
Her mother, a half step behind her, gave Hild’s fingers a squeeze.
Then they entered the hall.
Flickering torches lined the walls, and in the long pit that stretched up the center of the structure, all the fires had been lit. Smoke rose to the holes in the thatch high above. Past the banners and beams and mead benches lining the long tables on either side of the fire pit, men crowded around the dais. Someone must have signaled to them, because as Hild tried to calm herself, they turned to look at her, theirfaces half red, half shadow in the light of the flames. Silence fell.
Suddenly, a sense of unfamiliarity gripped her, as if the hall where she’d spent her entire life, where she’d played as a child and grown into a young woman, where everyone knew and respected her, were a foreign place. As if she no longer belonged here. Cold air collected around her, fingering at her neck. Somewhere outside a dog barked. Another answered it.
Hild took a deep breath and started forward. As her feet touched the wooden hall floor, the sensation left her and she began to feel at home again, despite the unusual hush. Her shoes barely made a sound on the floorboards—her skirts whispered more loudly. She stared ahead at the group of men and held her spine straight, her head high, willing herself not to look at people’s faces. Not to look for Arinbjörn.
Where was he? She didn’t remember seeing him after … She closed her eyes to erase the memory of the expression on his face, the look he’d given her.
She wished he would step out from the crowd to walk beside her, but neither he nor anyone else did. No matter: soon he would know the truth and everything would be as it was before.
She reached back for her mother’s hand, but her fingers met air. She stiffened. There was no one behind her. She was on her own.
Ahead of her, her
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