aren’t here to cause more fuss.”
As always, Toki said nothing. From the corner of his eye he saw Bebba dart through into the room she used for brewing and glimpsed Wilda, the bronze collar around her neck not quite covered by the sweep of her dark hair. He held out the parcel. Agnar took it with a suspicious look that widened into surprise when he unwrapped it. “This is a fine cloak, and it’ll be just right for Idunn. But why are you giving it to me?”
Toki slid his eyes toward the brewing room, where Bebba stood with her arms crossed in the doorway, Wilda behind her, pale but stoic. She managed a wan smile for Toki, and he knew why her collar pained him. Because she’d been a wild thing once, all scrambled hair and bare feet and daring, and now the collar tamed her.
That smile gave him enough courage for this. His voice crackled and broke, rusty from disuse, but he spoke. “For Wilda.”
Agnar snorted and shoved the cloak back at him. “And there was me, thinking maybe you weren’t such a simpleton after all.”
“Please,” Toki said. “For Wilda. My pig too, what meat I got from it. Take both.”
“What you want with her, eh?” Bebba’s voice was sharp with disapproval. “Going to be like your brothers, take yourself a bed-slave? I thought better of you than that, for all they say you’re simple.”
“Bebba, enough.” Agnar shot her a warning look. Bebba sometimes forgot her place, and though Agnar was a patient man, he’d had cause to teach her more than once before. A man nagged by his own thrall was not a man, not in the eyes of the village. “Toki, what do you want with a thrall? You can barely feed yourself, and she won’t help much. It’s not like you can all of a sudden afford a flock of sheep so she can spend her time spinning.”
Toki’s breath was tight, his throat burning, but he couldn’t say it. It had been hard enough to say the few words he had. He thrust out the cloak again and kept his eyes on Agnar’s. Even as he did, he knew it was no good. Agnar’s face, hard as rock, sad as moonlight, made it clear even before he spoke.
“She isn’t mine to sell, Toki. She belongs to Sigdir. I’m just keeping her till Winter Nights. And I don’t need to say he won’t sell her to you. Especially this one.”
Toki’s throat dried up and his heart squeezed painfully. She belonged to Sigdir, and the whole village knew what he was like with his thralls. He’d learned from Bausi. And Sigdir wouldn’t sell him a thrall. Sigdir would give him nothing he didn’t need to. Wilda’s pale face watched, her brows creased as she tried to follow the words. He couldn’t bear it, the thought of her with Sigdir, of any poor woman thrall with Sigdir, with what he’d become without Arni to guide him, with Bausi to twist him.
Agnar’s old face wrinkled even more, in pity maybe. “Why’s this one got you all so fired up? It’s not like you, not at all, and it worries me, though I’m glad you found your tongue at last. Why this one? She’s pleasing enough to look at, but that’s not it, because all Sigdir’s thralls are that.”
Toki stared down at the cloak, watched his hands sink into the soft fur, crumple and twist it, seemingly on their own. He couldn’t say. Even if he’d not been cursed to silence on it, he couldn’t say because it wasn’t just what she’d seen, the danger she put them all in. Not just because keeping her alive was his one good thing, stored up to tell Odin that he was worthy when the time came. It was her.
Agnar sat down heavily, shaking his head. “Wish I knew for sure what happened the night Arni died. All we got is Bausi’s word, because you don’t talk, and you act like you’re simple, or ashamed of yourself, right enough. I don’t know what’s got into you, but here’s the small comfort I got for you. Sigdir took this one particular. He’s got a reason, though I don’t know what it is. But he’s been playing very secretive of late, even
As always, Toki said nothing. From the corner of his eye he saw Bebba dart through into the room she used for brewing and glimpsed Wilda, the bronze collar around her neck not quite covered by the sweep of her dark hair. He held out the parcel. Agnar took it with a suspicious look that widened into surprise when he unwrapped it. “This is a fine cloak, and it’ll be just right for Idunn. But why are you giving it to me?”
Toki slid his eyes toward the brewing room, where Bebba stood with her arms crossed in the doorway, Wilda behind her, pale but stoic. She managed a wan smile for Toki, and he knew why her collar pained him. Because she’d been a wild thing once, all scrambled hair and bare feet and daring, and now the collar tamed her.
That smile gave him enough courage for this. His voice crackled and broke, rusty from disuse, but he spoke. “For Wilda.”
Agnar snorted and shoved the cloak back at him. “And there was me, thinking maybe you weren’t such a simpleton after all.”
“Please,” Toki said. “For Wilda. My pig too, what meat I got from it. Take both.”
“What you want with her, eh?” Bebba’s voice was sharp with disapproval. “Going to be like your brothers, take yourself a bed-slave? I thought better of you than that, for all they say you’re simple.”
“Bebba, enough.” Agnar shot her a warning look. Bebba sometimes forgot her place, and though Agnar was a patient man, he’d had cause to teach her more than once before. A man nagged by his own thrall was not a man, not in the eyes of the village. “Toki, what do you want with a thrall? You can barely feed yourself, and she won’t help much. It’s not like you can all of a sudden afford a flock of sheep so she can spend her time spinning.”
Toki’s breath was tight, his throat burning, but he couldn’t say it. It had been hard enough to say the few words he had. He thrust out the cloak again and kept his eyes on Agnar’s. Even as he did, he knew it was no good. Agnar’s face, hard as rock, sad as moonlight, made it clear even before he spoke.
“She isn’t mine to sell, Toki. She belongs to Sigdir. I’m just keeping her till Winter Nights. And I don’t need to say he won’t sell her to you. Especially this one.”
Toki’s throat dried up and his heart squeezed painfully. She belonged to Sigdir, and the whole village knew what he was like with his thralls. He’d learned from Bausi. And Sigdir wouldn’t sell him a thrall. Sigdir would give him nothing he didn’t need to. Wilda’s pale face watched, her brows creased as she tried to follow the words. He couldn’t bear it, the thought of her with Sigdir, of any poor woman thrall with Sigdir, with what he’d become without Arni to guide him, with Bausi to twist him.
Agnar’s old face wrinkled even more, in pity maybe. “Why’s this one got you all so fired up? It’s not like you, not at all, and it worries me, though I’m glad you found your tongue at last. Why this one? She’s pleasing enough to look at, but that’s not it, because all Sigdir’s thralls are that.”
Toki stared down at the cloak, watched his hands sink into the soft fur, crumple and twist it, seemingly on their own. He couldn’t say. Even if he’d not been cursed to silence on it, he couldn’t say because it wasn’t just what she’d seen, the danger she put them all in. Not just because keeping her alive was his one good thing, stored up to tell Odin that he was worthy when the time came. It was her.
Agnar sat down heavily, shaking his head. “Wish I knew for sure what happened the night Arni died. All we got is Bausi’s word, because you don’t talk, and you act like you’re simple, or ashamed of yourself, right enough. I don’t know what’s got into you, but here’s the small comfort I got for you. Sigdir took this one particular. He’s got a reason, though I don’t know what it is. But he’s been playing very secretive of late, even
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