by Matt Larkin
No, but it would bring about the same bitter end to Bekkhildr. Besides, part of her almost liked Gudrun. Sometimes.
“What in Hel’s name does this mean, Brynhild?” Gudrun snapped.
“Why do you expect me to pretend to be your equal?” Brynhild asked. “I am not bound by your limits, Niflung.” No matter how hard she tried, sometimes Brynhild could not deny the venom bubbling in her gut. Odin and Grimhild and all the others had bound her to this bitter urd. “I am stronger than you. My husband is greater than yours and has traveled through the fire to claim me, while yours bows down to mine.”
Gudrun blanched, then reddened. The other princess swam back toward shore.
Oh, no. Brynhild wasn’t done with her yet. She dove under the water and covered the distance quickly, coming back up beside Gudrun. “It seems you are not much of a swimmer without that amulet, are you?”
“What do you want to hear, Brynhild?” Gudrun asked, now able to put her feet down and wade toward shore.
“Admit you are less than me.”
Gudrun scoffed.
“Why not? Your precious husband was practically a thrall to King Hjalprek, and now even Hjalprek has sworn loyalty to Gunnar.”
The other princess spun on her. Her slap was clumsy and slow, even considering the water. Brynhild caught her arm and twisted it around behind her back.
“Do you have any idea of the evil your mother has wrought?” The words left her mouth before she realized she meant to speak them.
“Hold your Hel-damned tongue!” Gudrun snapped, then grunted as Brynhild pulled harder on her arm.
“Why? Ashamed for poor Sigurd, a thrall to better kings?” Brynhild cooed the words into the woman’s ear. Part of her longed to take it all back, but it was as if a dam had burst inside her and she could not forestall the words. They rushed from her in a torrent, the venom that had so long choked her now grown beyond her ability to stomach. “He does not seem so very great to me, little princess.”
“Bitter to have lost your first love?”
Brynhild released Gudrun of a sudden and the Niflung stumbled underwater, before coming up, backing away. She knew. She knew all along, while pretending to be Brynhild’s friend?
Gudrun rubbed her arm while continuing to back up, until she stood on the beach, shivering. She stormed toward her dress and knelt, grabbing something from a pouch. “Sigurd slew the linnorm Fafnir. Sigurd passed through flames, you wretched bitch. You thought it was my brother? Your precious Sigurd came to you in Hlymdalir, though you thought it was Gunnar.”
“No.” Brynhild stomped toward her, but the waters slowed her steps. “No.”
“I’ve oft wondered just how he fucked you that day.” Gudrun held up a rose gold band between her fingers. The ring Brynhild had tossed to Gunnar. How did Gudrun have it …?
Brynhild froze, waist deep in the water, gaping at the ring. Gudrun knew everything. And Gunnar—no, Sigurd—had given her the ring. Somehow, he had changed shapes with Gunnar. And he had done this to her. Betrayed her, utterly.
They knew.
Everyone knew.
Even Sigurd knew what he’d done to her. Lain with her under false pretenses. Delivered her to the bed of a man he knew she had no desire to marry.
She sank down to her knees, the water suddenly up to her neck, splashing her face with each passing wave, though she hardly noticed.
Dimly, she watched as Gudrun dressed. The princess dropped the rose gold ring on the sand, then fled, afraid of Brynhild’s wrath, perhaps.
But Brynhild couldn’t summon wrath anymore. Just a horrible, soul devouring numbness.
37
Brynhild did not attend the night meal, nor the day meal the next morning. As she paced about the balcony around the courtyard, Gudrun cursed herself over and over for losing her temper and handing over that accursed ring. What had she been thinking? Yes, Brynhild had pushed her beyond the limits of what could be endured, for certain, and yet, in losing control of herself, Gudrun had endangered everything. Indeed, what if the woman went to Sigurd with this?
Would such a claim risk undoing the hold of Grimhild’s potion on the man? Hel take Gudrun for a fool. Her pride had brought the risk of disaster upon the Niflungar. If Brynhild wanted to show herself above Gudrun, well, then Gudrun should have simply accepted that as part of the price of the deception they had all worked upon the woman.
Huffing, she leaned on the balustrade. If Sigurd learned the truth, Gudrun would lose him. Worse yet, the Niflungar would lose him, and their budding empire with him. Just how far would the affronted man go to seek vengeance? War? Almost certainly. Sigurd had cut off the head of his own foster father, and for crimes some might call less than those Grimhild had committed against him.
Gudrun slapped the rail. Hel damn it all!
She finally had her life under control.
You’ve never had control.
Gudrun ground her teeth, pretending not to hear the snow maiden, though they both knew better.
You are weak. Governed by your emotions like the sea tossed by the wind.
Hel could have Snegurka. Gudrun slapped the balustrade once more, then stormed off. There was naught for it save to find Brynhild and … and apologize? That would end well, wouldn’t it? Sorry we stole your husband and convinced him to give you to another man. She couldn’t mind that, really.
Gudrun huffed out a sigh then made her way to Brynhild’s bower. The place was a shaded balcony overlooking the cliffs, not far from the chambers Gunnar had given Brynhild as her personal space. They oft slept in separate chambers, but Gudrun’s brother had claimed not to mind, saying he understood her desire for solitude from time to time.
A pair of ladies-in-waiting clustered just outside the bower, apparently banished from Brynhild’s company this morn. Gudrun waved them away. “Find somewhere else to be.” As soon as they’d left, she stepped out onto the bower herself, squinting against the brightness in the sky. Brynhild sat in a chair, staring off into the distance. “A warm summer day, it seems.”
Brynhild didn’t even bother looking in her direction.
Not that Gudrun could blame her.
How you wriggle and writhe, squirming to avoid the fate you wrought for yourself.
No! No, Gudrun had never asked Grimhild to bespell Sigurd. She hadn’t planned it, hadn’t done this.
Even now, you shirk responsibility for your circumstances.
“I … uh …” Hel take that vile snow maiden. She was making this harder. “I hope our conversation did not distress you overmuch.”
Brynhild did face her now, leveling the most withering gaze upon her that Gudrun could ever remember seeing. Even Grimhild would have been impressed. Gudrun couldn’t help but shrink a little under the woman’s merciless stare.
“Listen,” Gudrun said. “I’m sorry for everything.”
“Sorry?” Brynhild lurched to her feet, knocking over the chair in the process. “Sorry? Malice governed all you’ve done, from years back. You allowed me to believe our friendship real, and plotted against me. Then, even after you had won, you felt the need to twist the knife you’d jabbed into my back. And now, after all that, you have the temerity to apologize? Your mother would be proud of your merciless heart.”
Gudrun blanched. Brynhild had this wrong. Gudrun had never intended for any of it to work out quite the way it had.
And yet you allowed your mother to know of your desire for the man. And when he was yours for the taking, did you refrain? Did you try to break the spell and send him home to his love?
Gudrun ground her teeth, desperate to shut out the prattle in her head.
“Well?” Brynhild demanded.
“I … Please don’t think that of me,” Gudrun stammered. “It was all more complicated than that. Things just happened …”
The woman stalked closer, seeming intent to strangle Gudrun, enough that Gudrun backed up until she hit the outer wall of the castle. “You accidentally fucked my husband? What, you slipped
and fell on his cock? You didn’t mean to marry him? And, oh, the part where you and your brother conspired to have my own husband rape me while I thought him someone else? Also probably just an oversight, I’m quite certain.”
“I didn’t do aught with intent to grieve you. Surely you understand that … urd …”
“Fate!” Brynhild raised a hand close to Gudrun’s face and she braced for a slap, though none landed. “You’d blame urd for your own actions?” Now she chuckled, though her eyes remained dark.
“Tell me whatever you need to say.” Hel, her voice sounded pathetic even in her own ears. She was.
Worthless.
“It must have been so easy for you to fall into that life, to live in satisfaction as your desires were filled.” Brynhild shook her head and leaned close to Gudrun. “You are a wretched bitch, and I swear you’ll suffer more than anyone for this. I cannot bear that you stole him from me.” Her breath was hot, her voice nigh to a whisper. “Yet I’m inclined to let you live knowing a fall comes for you. Oh, I know you are not the true architect of our tragic urd. I only hope I can see you squirm when it closes in around your throat.”
“I didn’t … didn’t know …”
Brynhild sneered at her. “Now you further insult me with your lies. Even had you not come to call upon me in Hlymdalir, no one can claim ignorance of the marriage of one of the greatest kings in the North Realms. Nor can you expect me to believe you had no knowledge of it when he came to you. You knew exactly what you were doing: betraying me. And betrayal must be avenged.”
Gudrun slipped away from Brynhild, putting some distance between the two of them. Who did this woman think she was to threaten her thus? Gudrun may have acted wrongly—Snegurka cackled in her mind at that thought—may have, yes, but still, she was heir to the last great kingdom in the Mortal Realm. She was the daughter of Gjuki and Grimhild themselves. And this fallen valkyrie from a pathetic, petty kingdom thought to threaten her. “You are married far above your station already. Gunnar is king of the Niflungar. No other race yet living comes close to our history, our glory, our power. Yes, you lost Sigurd.” Gudrun threw up her hands. “Such things are but fog, blown away by the wind. You cannot see that you received a husband beyond yourself, caught in your own pride. How many should suffer because of it?”
Brynhild’s hand twitched like she thought to reach for a weapon, though she did not wear her sword at the moment—Hel be praised for that. “I did not ask for Gunnar. I already had the man I loved and you stole him from me. You took my life! Snatched what I had chosen from me. And you ask me to be grateful you gave me a different life in return? Gunnar is a crawling worm next to Sigurd.”
“He is king of the greatest—”
“He is a slave to the whims of his own mother. And do not think me ignorant of the witch’s part in all this. Hers is the most wretched soul I have ever encountered.”
Maybe that was true. But Grimhild had worked to salve Gudrun’s pain, and at a time Gudrun had thought herself wishing for death. “The woman has treated you like her own daughter.”
“Then I pity you.”
Gudrun flinched at that.
“Oh. Did that strike close to your heart? No, I don’t care to know what vileness that bitch put you through in the past. Not now, not after you have showered bile upon our friendship. As for Grimhild, she contrived all the woes we both now suffer. My dearest wish is that her schemes shall finally come back to devour her as well. I may not have much gift for the Sight, but I have a fair reckoning of what must ensue from here. Enough to know you’ll all pay for this.”
What was she talking about? Did Brynhild have a foretelling regarding the Niflungar? Did she know something that would happen to Gudrun? To Grimhild?
Brynhild snickered. “Was it one of her potions that stole Sigurd’s memory of me? Was that how she achieved this?”
“No … it’s a lie.”
The other woman cocked her head and stared openmouthed at Gudrun, as if struck speechless that Gudrun could bother denying what seemed so plain to her. “Then enjoy Sigurd and pretend you never betrayed me. While I wait to see how things will play out for you. You are not the spiders in the web of urd, Niflung. Not anymore, if ever you were.”
“I will enjoy him! I deserve some happiness!” Hel, how petulant the words sounded, but Gudrun couldn’t stop herself.
Brynhild raised her hands in mock surrender, the effect broken by her smirk. “Before long, I suspect you’ll regret this conversation. But … as you wish. No more hateful words. Enjoy your happiness.”
Delicious.
No. Gudrun would not let her have the upper hand. Not like this. “You’re the one who spoke maliciously to me first, Brynhild. Your hatred is the root of all our discontent.”
The other woman snorted and once more drew uncomfortably close to Gudrun. “I wonder if you honestly believe that. But it doesn’t matter. My hatred, as you say, slept silently in my breast for the past year.” Brynhild thrust a finger at Gudrun’s chest. “You’ll know how I’ve felt, sooner or later.”
Then, mercifully, the woman backed away and strode from the bower.
Heart pounding, Gudrun stumbled over to the chair then slumped into it.
Oh, Hel. Oh, fuck.
She ground her teeth, slowly shaking her head, stifling the urge to scream.
Hel!
It was all coming crashing down around her. And naught Gudrun could do was like to stave off the end.
38
Clad only in an undershirt, Brynhild stared at the ceiling to her chambers. She’d sent away the pestering slaves who tried to take her to wash or change her clothes. She denied those who brought her food or drink. She forbade any from entering.
Outside, the sun had risen and set and risen again, and Brynhild rose only when her body forced her to piss. Even that came less and less frequently now, with her taking no drink in.
It left her free to drift in half wakefulness, her mind touching far places, almost as though she could still cross the Veil and move through the shadows beneath the world. No, but that power was taken from her, along with all else, by the scheming King of the Aesir. Odin had known all of this, back when he cursed her to the nightmarish sleep. He had known and yet had offered her no semblance of mercy, nor why would he?
He believed she had betrayed him. In truth, she had. After swearing her oath, still she’d defied the king, believing she could save a worthy man. Maybe Odin had always known she’d make that betrayal, too. How did one contend with a man who could see the future? Oh, the answer was obvious.
One lost.
No hope of winning such a struggle existed. No, she’d been like a pig, trapped in a pen and fleeing the butcher, unaware that there had never been anywhere to which she might escape. The web of urd stretched out forever, in all directions, and no one could free themselves from it.
Lying like this, she turned her head when someone dared open her door.
Gunnar shut the door behind himself, then moved to sit down beside her.
Brynhild looked away, back up at the hateful ceiling. He deserved every drop of her scorn but bestirring herself from her current position seemed an insurmountable task at the moment. Still, she mused over going for her sword beside her bed.
“They tell me you are ill,” Gunnar said. “That you refuse your food and speak to no one.”
And yet he somehow expected her to speak to him. His subtle hubris would have made her scoff, had she the energy to do so.
“Tell me what vexes you, Brynhild.”
Just let him leave. He had no business here and she was done pretending to live happy in this marriage. Let all the Niflungar burn, and Sigurd and Odin with them. Let Hel claim every last soul on Samsey and draw them into her gates.
“Please, speak to me.”
Brynhild shut her eyes. “What did you do with the ring I gave you on our first night together? You do not wear it.”
“I …”
“If a woman gives a man a ri
ng, and he allows his sister to claim it, what should the woman think of that?” Brynhild turned her glower on him. “I swore to marry the man who would ride through flame to reach me. The one who could best me at arms. And though you pretended to be otherwise, it was Sigurd who fulfilled the conditions. I should have realized …” She swallowed. “I should have, given I’d already thought he alone could complete the tasks I had set. But he wore your form and he seemed to have forgotten me. So I broke my oath to him and made a new one to you.”
Gunnar gaped at her, working his mouth.
His shock gave her the strength to sit. “Did you truly think I would not learn of the evil Grimhild had wrought? That your lies and deceptions would last a lifetime? These wretched deeds will be the ruin of all of you, her most of all.”
Her husband lurched to his feet, his shock melting away, replaced with a glare. “You blame a woman far above you. They say you were once a valkyrie and tormented the dead, forcing them to serve the god-king. But still you mock my mother who has held together our most ancient kingdom despite foes within and without.”
All she could do was scoff at that. “You make her sound like a hero.” She shook her head. “But you are nigh to as guilty as she is.” Brynhild lunged at her sword, caught it in one hand, and rolled off the bed to her feet, holding the blade between them. “And for that I think I’ll kill you. All of you!”
Gunnar stumbled backward, yanking free the runeblade Sigurd had given him. “Put it down.”
Brynhild answered by charging around the bed, unleashing a flurry of strikes. Gunnar dodged, parried, and countered. He was good. Not quite as good as Sigurd, though.
His blade pinned hers to the ground and he jerked his elbow up into her jaw. The impact sent a flash of white before her eyes and next she knew, she was lying on her arse.
Gunnar kicked her blade away. “You’re underfed and fatigued and you thought to fight me?”