by Julia Ember
Flickering beeswax candles lined the walls, but there were no obvious windows. The main chamber was the biggest hall I’d ever seen, with no doors to other rooms. Rugs dyed in orchid, cerulean, and deep green covered the floor. Tapestries depicting gruesome naval battles hung between the candles on the wall. The warm air smelled of sandalwood. This jarl had wealth and connections with merchants in the East and he wanted me to know it. I set my jaw and forced myself to look straight ahead. I wasn’t a peasant. I wasn’t going to gawk at the lord’s finery. I was a stryimaðr and I needed to act like it.
A lone figure sat at the end of the hall on a throne on a raised platform. There were no guards or servants. I would have the jarl’s full attention as I made my case. Unable to see the jarl clearly, I squinted in the low light. Then my eyes widened. No one had mentioned that the jarl was a woman. Female jarls were as rare as pearls.
Jarl Honor reclined on a high-backed wooden throne with her legs crossed primly at the ankles. Her skin was deep brown, and she wore her long, black hair in tight braids. She had high, noble cheekbones and bright green eyes. Her lips were quirked in a half smile. A sable mantle was wrapped around her shoulders. Gold rings adorned each of her slender fingers. She was beautiful, commanding, and regal—everything I wanted to be. I knelt on the dais before her. She extended her hand for me to kiss her rings, then lifted a bejeweled goblet to her lips.
“My húskarl tells me that you have come to ask for our support in retaking the Kjorseyrr coast, specifically the township now held by the late Jarl Haakon’s men,” she said.
“Yes. They hold children from my town as prisoners.”
The jarl studied me. She rested the goblet on a little wooden table beside the throne. “And why should my thegns and I care about this?”
My mouth fell open. Of all the reactions I’d been playing out in my mind, that I might be met with blatant apathy hadn’t occurred to me. I could picture Yarra so clearly, sitting atop Mjolnir and laughing with Lief beside her. The jarl couldn’t be so heartless as to ignore their fate.
“Why should you care about children being held prisoner?” I ground out. “They’re innocent. You would see them be butchered when they come of age?”
“Many people in the world are innocent.”
“They’re my people.” I dug the tip of my hook into my thigh to keep myself in check. “And my grandmother was born in one of your villages. My kinsman, Halvag, lives there still. These children are kin to your own people.”
Jarl Honor was silent. I struggled not to fidget, but when her gaze rested on my hook, I said defensively, “I fight just as well as before. Maybe better.”
“I don’t doubt it. You carry yourself like a warrior.” Honor lifted the goblet and sipped her wine. “But since you landed on our shores, I have had eyes on you. What kind of jarl would I be if I just let a foreigner land on my coast with a hoard of fighting men? The old woman you met in the woods reports to me. She told me what I needed to know about you.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. That encounter was shameful. But I had thought it would be a private shame, not something that would reach Honor’s ears. I should have known better than to think that we could pass truly unseen. I had not disciplined the crew for their actions, and she probably thought I condoned them. I would fix that later.
Honor smiled, and wrinkles formed around her eyes. “She did say that you moved with incredible speed. Inala used to be a warrior, before she dedicated herself to Rán and chose a hermit’s life close to the sea. She also saw a glimpse of the moving tattoos on your arms. Aslaug confirmed them.”
“Then you know I could be an asset to you!” I exclaimed and held out my arms for her to inspect the markings. “Help me to free my town, and we’ll all swear fealty to you. You could extend your reach across the sea. I would pay you tribute, govern for you.”
She sighed. “And what kind of governor would you be? Inala says you do not trust your men and she could see that they have no love for you.”
The fragile leash I had on my temper snapped. “You don’t know anything about those men or what their ilk did to my town. My home is in ashes. You don’t know what they took from me.”
I braced myself, sure that she would order me to leave.
Instead, Honor set her jaw and leaned back on her throne. “You’re wrong. I do care about Kjorseyrr. Those children are the last of a god’s bloodline, the only navigators left. I am a religious woman, Ragna. I believe that slaying children of a god is sacrilege. We sailed to Brytten when we heard of Jarl Haakon’s death. But I wanted to hear what you would say and see if you were different than the reports have told me. I cannot risk my own warriors to fight alongside men who may stab us in the back at any moment.”
My head felt light. “You’ve been to Kjorseyrr?” I stammered.
“Even if none of those children show the marks now, their children might someday.” The jarl looked down at her lap and twisted one of her rings. “As I said, I am religious. I also know what those children could bring to this land. We are rebuilding, but, as you have seen, many of our towns are still poor.”
“You would have taken them?” I demanded. “You would have made them your slaves?”
The jarl’s eyes flashed. “Never. We would have given them the choice. To come with us and join us as citizens or remain behind. They would be free here, and we would pray that, in time, they would choose to repay us—as Heimdallr himself chose when he favored Jarl Sigrid.”
Jarl Sigrid? I had heard her name in our histories, but never of any association with the gods. My nose wrinkled, and I stowed the name away to ask questions later. “I could find you all the gold you need if you help me.”
Honor shook her head; heavy braids fell across her face. “As I said, I am a religious woman. I know my history. Haakon, for all his other faults, was the same. It is not gold we want you to find.”
A flush crept up my neck. Since the day I was taken captive, I had wondered what Haakon needed us to find. He had been one of the richest men in the world already, with no compunction about murdering and pillaging to get what he wanted. Honor knew why we had been attacked. She knew why I’d been taken and something about the history of my connection to Heimdallr. But if I betrayed my ignorance now, I might lose my chance to bargain.
“Why didn’t you succeed?” I asked instead. “You may be rebuilding your provinces, but this city is enormous. You must have five hundred warriors at your disposal.”
“The men stationed at Kjorseyrr have done more than recruit new warriors to their cause. They have a creature in their service who guards the prisoners.”
“A creature?” My legs, already exhausted from the ride, were starting to go numb from kneeling. “What sort of creature?”
“An eight-legged horse that feeds on humans,” Jarl Honor whispered. She gripped the carved snakes that wound over the arms of her throne. “A creature of Loki. The Trickster has their own stake in this and they will protect it. My warriors are fearful of the Trickster god. As they should be.”
I thought back to the storm that had wrecked our ship. Ersel had been certain that the cyan waves and rough winds had been caused by Loki. Still, any admission of ignorance on my part was as good as admitting to the jarl that I was unprepared. I waited and said nothing.
The jarl stood and rested her hand on my shoulder. “Together, there is a chance we might defeat it. You know the island. You have a shapeshifter with you, who invokes Loki for her power. But I won’t risk my thegns in battle with an incompetent leader we can’t trust. Prove that you can lead your own crew—that you can make them respect you, care for your survival, and not just fear your immediate wrath—and we will sail together.”
“How can I possibly make them do that?” I climbed to my feet on stiff legs to look her in the eyes. Permission be damned! “They hate me because I am a woman and young. I must be cruel to them, or they try
to rise against me. They think I’m weak.”
To my horror, Jarl Honor tossed her head back and laughed. “I’m a woman and I rule a province. Do you think it was easy for me when I first took power here? I prove myself daily, and yet I have reorganized this city according to my own beliefs. Let’s take a walk.”
Still fuming, I followed the jarl out of the longhouse to a field with archery targets and fenced dueling rings. Warriors of many genders fought with wooden practice swords, aimed bows, or brushed beautiful, muscled horses. The animals had clear, alert eyes and crested necks. I’d ridden to meet the jarl aboard a fat cart pony. No wonder she wasn’t taking me seriously.
Grizzled veterans with white beards helped novices tighten girths and nock arrows. Conversation and laughter filled the space. I bit my lip and stuck close to the jarl. Had I ever heard my crew sound so at ease? Sometimes, when I was practicing below deck or with Ersel, I had heard them playing cards or laughing beneath the stars. But they’d always stopped when I had opened the hatch.
Honor gazed at the practice yard, where her warriors sparred. “My mother was a black merchant sailor from the South who fell in love with a white thegn. I was born in this city, and yet, for years, because of the color of my skin, people here saw me as foreign. I have struggled for everything that I have against people who wanted to see me fail.”
She clapped her hands twice. The warriors immediately stopped their activity, dropped their weapons, and knelt on the grass. Honor took my arm and strode into the middle of the yard. The thegns watched her from their knees, perfectly still, but their smiles had not vanished.
A woman with white hair and a scar across her cheek rose and brought one of the horses to the jarl. He was a striking animal, dapple-gray with a proud, deep neck. His coat was polished to a sheen. “He’s just four,” the warrior said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. She nodded toward a heavyset black man with a thick beard. “Fjarin says he is the best of the yield. We will have him trained for you.”
“Thank you, Mjoll,” Honor said. “He is a credit to you. I will ride him proudly.”
The woman flushed and murmured her thanks.
Jarl Honor took the reins and stroked the animal’s neck. She smiled at her warriors. “Please, do not let us interrupt you.”
Some of the warriors resumed their practice, but many others hovered around us, waiting for their chance to speak to the jarl.
“They adore you,” I whispered. On our voyage, I had relied on fear to keep control of my men. It had never occurred to me that there might be another way to command my crew’s respect. Still, these thegns had pledged themselves to Honor alone. They were honorable, principled warriors, nothing like the cut-throat mercenaries who followed me.
Honor nodded. “When you can say the same for the crew you lead, come back to speak with me. Until then, I’m afraid we cannot help you.”
* * *
I left Jarl Honor to address her thegns. The stable boy who had taken my pony waited for me in the courtyard, where he pruned winter roses with a long pair of bronze sheers. He rushed over when I approached. “We’ve laid a meal for you and your crew in the Blue House, styrimaðr. The jarl apologizes that she cannot dine with you today, but I assure you that you will be very comfortable. If you’ll follow me?”
The boy led me to a building made entirely of shimmering blue gemstones and white seashells. In the sun, it glittered like a pendant. I smiled. When I’d pictured Ersel’s home under the ocean, I’d always imagined something like this. I knew she had lived under an iceberg, but still, I hoped she would feel at home here.
I pushed open the door. The main room had two long tables with benches dominating the space. Fur and pelts for sleeping were rolled up against the walls. An open door at the rear of the room led to a bedchamber with a four-poster bed. The jarl’s servants had spread a feast on the tables. My crew was clustered on the benches. They gorged themselves on fresh blackberries and crusty bread smothered with butter. There was a suckling pig on the first table, still uncarved. A steward stood behind it with knives at the ready.
Ersel and Trygve sat together at the second table, but there was no room beside them. Ersel gave me an apologetic shrug when she caught my eye, but she’d barely spoken to me on the ride. Maybe I had overstepped by demanding that she transform in our meeting with Aslaug. I would have to apologize later.
I took a seat next to Smyain instead. He didn’t notice me when I sat down. He gobbled down a slice of bread, crumbs collecting in his beard, then reached for another. When I cleared my throat, he started and dropped the bread onto his plate.
“Apologies, styrimaðr,” he murmured. “We should have waited for you.”
I held back a tart reply. If I wanted Jarl Honor’s assistance, I had to make this crew accept me, like me. I would have to bury whatever hostility I felt for now—even if I was still annoyed with him for flirting with Ersel and making us fight over the pinecone. I fixed him with a wide smile. “There was no way you could have known how long I’d be. Please, eat. You must be famished.”
His brow furrowed, but he didn’t need to be given permission twice. He reached for a handful of berries and stuffed them into his mouth.
“Shall we cut the meat, my lady?” one of the stewards called to me.
Through a mouthful of bread, Torstein shouted, “She isn’t a lady. She’s a styrimaðr.”
A genuine smile pulled at my lips before I bit it back. I could play the part of a more benevolent captain to win Honor’s favor, but I couldn’t start believing it myself. As soon as I started to believe my men cared for me, I’d be in danger.
“Cut the meat!” I banged my bronze cup on the table. “And bring me some ale.”
While the steward carved the pig and distributed slices, I turned my attention to Smyain. Starting table conversation had never come easily to me, so I cleared my throat again to get his attention. Smyain had been about to take a drink from his tankard, but he put it down when he heard me.
“Yes?” he asked, instantly attentive in a way I’d never noticed or appreciated. “Do you need me to do something?”
I shook my head. “No, I just… I’m curious about you. I haven’t really spoken with you, or any of the men for that matter.”
We had sailed together for weeks, but I realized, with a touch of unexpected shame, that the sum of our conversations had been barked orders. As their captain, I should know something about them, if only to manipulate them better.
He started at me, wide-eyed, and a morsel of cheese fell from his lips. “About me?”
“Yes,” I pressed on. “Tell me. How did you come to be in Jarl Haakon’s service?”
He scowled and ground his teeth. I worried that I’d chosen the wrong question. But after a pause, he said, “I didn’t really have much choice. I’m from a farming village in the mountains near Leirag. My mother was alone with six children, and I was the third, so when I came of age, I was just a burden—wouldn’t inherit the family farm. I was too old to be taking food out of the mouths of the little ones.” He shrugged. “Haakon went through men like old socks. He used us and wore us out with as much regard. But it meant there was always a place at the jarl’s manor for a young man to try his luck. I arrived in Bjornstad and was out on a ship within the week.”
“With no training? Straight from a farm?” I’d spent years training with my weapons for a hope of being good enough to join a jarl’s household. Even then, if the jarl had accepted me, I had expected to spend years more under the tutelage of a more experienced warrior before I’d be sent on an expedition. Fighters who sailed under a jarl’s colors, even mercenaries, usually spent years as apprentices to a thegn. Aslaug and the two men who had come with them rode as if born to a horse and carried their weapons as extensions of their bodies. That kind of movement took years to learn. I had never thought that my men possessed that level of skill—most of th
em had never advanced in rank—but to hear that Haakon had sent Smyain to fight with no training at all…
Smyain grimaced. “If we survived a few raids, then maybe the jarl would take an interest. Men like Torstein who rose to styrimaðr had some training. I was never good enough to merit interest. The one time I met the jarl, he said I was like a cockroach—not fancy, no style, but I just kept surviving.”
Smyain had a full, yellow beard, but beneath it his skin was still youthful. He couldn’t have been older than his early twenties. How long had he been fighting untrained? Just hoping to survive? I didn’t want to feel sorry for him, but this wasn’t a life he had chosen.
“And did you ever go on a raiding mission?” I asked hesitantly.
He shook his head. “My captain was assigned to protect merchant vessels. We sailed out as far as the coast of Groenwald and would watch for pirates and looters trying to take what belonged to the jarl. For conquering new lands… Haakon sent better fighters than me.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “Not exactly selling myself, am I?”
His confession shouldn’t have given me confidence. If the men I led now were all untrained like him, recruited as sword-fodder by Haakon, then we didn’t stand a chance against his more-seasoned fighters. Still, part of me felt more at ease after hearing his story. He had not been a raider, burning homes and terrorizing innocent people. He was a farmer who had found himself at sea just trying to stay alive.
The steward carefully placed a choice cut of pork in front of me. He filled my tankard to the brim with frothy cider. I took a sip. It was tart and strong, just the way I liked it. I stabbed the pork with my knife. It was so tender that it broke away with a flick of my wrist. That made me smile. Cutting meat precisely was something I still struggled to do with one hand.
When I had finished eating, I rose from my bench and sought out Ersel. Purple berry juice stained her mouth and hands, so I knew she had eaten, but her face had a sickly pallor, and there were dark shadows under her eyes.