by Mariah Stone
The thrall made no move to do so. “I have enough bad luck in my life,” he said. And with that, he turned around and jogged back to the mead hall.
Kolbjorn shook his head and went inside. But what he had thought was breakfast turned out to be mead. The heavy smell of fermented honey hung in the air. The surface of the table was covered with liquid, the clay jar stood right on the table, and Master Olfar was emptying the drinking horn.
“Kolbjorn,” Olfar mumbled. “Come, son, join me in this doomed dwelling. I just finished the Necklace of Northern Lights. The spirits must be on their way. Let’s meet them like Norsemen. Drunk.”
Kolbjorn’s jaw tightened. “The jarl is asking you to wait out the storm in the mead hall. I’ll stay here and guard the necklace. Come, I see you can’t get there on your own.”
Even though he’d have to leave his post for a short while, Kolbjorn was confident no one would approach the haunted smithy in this weather. And what choice did he have? He couldn’t exactly send the prized jeweler off on his own in his condition.
In the mead hall, the feast was starting. It seemed everyone in the village was ready to feast but Kolbjorn. Alfarr and Ebbe followed him with especially evil looks on their faces, and something else—a strange triumph that made his skin crawl.
Kolbjorn remembered the first time he had seen a similar look on a five-year-old Alfarr after his mother had whispered something to him. “Go play with the dogs, mongrel!” Alfarr had exclaimed so that the whole mead hall heard, and his mother had laughed. It had been the first stab of rejection, the first time Kolbjorn had felt dirty and excluded and low, and his cheeks had burned. His childhood wish to be part of the family, to be close to his brothers, had been crushed. And he had no illusions now that it would ever happen.
Kolbjorn delivered Master Olfar and headed back to the house. The snowfall thickened and the wind blew stronger. Kolbjorn would wait out the storm inside the jeweler’s house. He might even allow himself to sleep a bit, as it was unlikely that any thief—human or otherwise—would be able to get away with anything in this weather.
But when he opened the door, a figure slouched over the chest with the jewels.
Kolbjorn’s hand shot to the ax on his belt.
The figure’s head was hooded, but at the sound of his entry, the thief’s head shot up, eyes wide, and recognition made thrill run through his whole body.
It was her.
The Necklace of Northern Lights glittered in her hand.
She was the thief!
Shock hit him like a wall of ice. Then came anger.
“You,” the word escaped his mouth, and it was filled with both hope and anguish. He hated that the first woman who had made his heart race had turned out to be a common thief. “Put the necklace back.”
Her fist clenched around it, and she hid it in the folds of her cloak. She straightened up and her face turned into a stern mask.
“No. Please, Kolbjorn. Let me go. I need it more than you know.”
How did she know his name? He raised his ax, and her green eyes widened, but an inner hardness shone in them.
Kolbjorn made a step towards her, and she backed deeper into the house. “Give it to me,” he said, “or your next breath will be the last one you take.”
Her eyes flicked just for one moment to the side. She backed a few steps further, hesitation in her face, but then she yelled: “Behind you!”
Kolbjorn spun around, and his ax flew up to meet another. Alfarr’s bloodthirsty face flashed in front of him. Kolbjorn threw him back with a roar.
“Treacherous worm!” he grunted.
“You are a worm. You are alone in the damned house in this storm? I’ll never get a better chance to get rid of you. People will think it’s the spirits.” Alfarr charged him like a bull, and his head slamming into Kolbjorn’s solar plexus kicked the breath out of him.
They flew across the table, his ax knocked from his hand. And as they landed on the floor, he saw a movement to his side.
The girl! The jewel! She was going to escape.
Kolbjorn gathered his strength and pressed on his half-brother’s chin with one hand. With the other one, he searched for his lost ax on the ground. Clasping the handle, he hit Alfarr with the dull side of the ax, and his brother collapsed on top of Kolbjorn.
Kolbjorn pushed the unconscious man off and jumped up. She was gone.
He ran outside, and even through the thick snow he saw her dark figure running up the hill in the direction of the sacred grove.
Calling for all the gods who would listen and straining every last part of his body and soul, Kolbjorn rushed after his last chance to get back in his father’s good graces.
Chapter Five
Rachel struggled through the snow, the Necklace of Northern Lights in her purse under the woolen cloak. The wind blew hard from all directions, and her lungs burned from running up the hill with snow clutching at her feet. She had to get to the rock before the giant Viking got to her.
A kidney had become available just a couple of hours ago, and Mom needed to get to the hospital within twenty-four hours or it would be too late. Rachel needed the money now, and the Necklace of Northern Lights was the last piece of the puzzle. When she had described the necklace to the auctioneer, he had said that he’d expect it to sell for at least a hundred thousand dollars.
Kolbjorn’s tall figure climbed the hill behind her, milky through the curtain of snow. Rachel ran for her life. She’d always been a runner, and had been unstoppable on the soccer field in high school, but he was already catching up.
She could see the gray rock between the trees up the hill. Just thirty more feet.
Her muscles were on fire.
Almost there. Already reached the clearing.
Just ten more feet.
Five. Two more steps.
She could already see the rough surface, the runes. Her hands reached for the rock.
A hand grabbed her cloak and she tumbled into the snow. Her head smacked into the rock; breath whooshed out of her.
No!
Kolbjorn pinned her to the ground, and Rachel’s body refused to obey her, her arms and legs like cooked spaghetti, her head spinning.
The rock was right there! Rachel wriggled, and little by little, her limbs regained strength.
“Let me go!”
Kolbjorn began rummaging under her cloak, the sensation of his hands sending electricity through her skin. “Give the necklace back.”
Rachel tried to push him off her, but it was like pushing a mountain.
“Where is it?”
She felt his hand reaching for the purse, and fear shot through her.
She had to act.
She knew it was a low blow, but with the rest of her strength, she kicked him in between the legs. A moan escaped his mouth and he let her go. It was only for a second, but she managed to clamber from under him and dart for the rock.
Finally, she laid her hands on it, but nothing happened. Its icy cold, snow-damp surface burned her skin.
“What?” Rachel whispered. She was about to hit the rock with her hands again, but Kolbjorn got to his knees despite undoubtedly excruciating pain, his hands reaching for her.
Rachel had to get out of here, away from him.
With a sinking heart and anxiety spinning inside her like a whirlpool, she ran further up the hill into the woods, away from Kolbjorn.
The snowfall grew into a blizzard, its gusts kicking Rachel off her feet and stealing her breath. She turned back, and sure enough, he was after her, although slower than before.
She didn’t know how long she ran. Soon, the snow was so high and the wind was so strong, that all she wanted was to lie down and take a breath. The eternity in which snowflakes stung her like bees, the need to blink, the inability to see anything through the whiteness of the world, made her slow down. She couldn’t feel her body anymore, as if she floated in the air like a spirit.
No. Think about your mother!
She pushed forward, but sh
e did not speed up.
She saw Kolbjorn’s handsome face through the haze to her left, and his hazel eyes reassured her. He took her by the elbow, and she took a step and fell, but he caught her. He crouched, hugged her hips and threw her over his shoulder. The world turned upside down. Rachel wanted to protest, but she had no strength left.
“There’s a cabin,” Kolbjorn’s voice reached her. “We will both die in this snowstorm if we stay outside.”
He was right. They needed to wait it out—even if she would be trapped with him—and stay alive. Once they got to the cabin, she’d fight for the necklace with her life if she had to.
And no matter what, she would not give in to the crush she’d had on him ever since she first saw him.
* * *
Inside the cabin, the cold air still bit his face, but at least it was calm and dry. Kolbjorn closed the door, and the howling wind was muffled, but the walls shook with every gust.
The house consisted of one room. A small hearth stood in the center of the cabin on the packed-earth floor, a stash of firewood by the wall, a sleeping bench in the furthest corner, a small table, a bucket with frozen water, and a chest where kitchen utensils were usually kept.
Kolbjorn put the woman down on the sleeping bench, her eyes hazy, her forehead and the side of her face smeared with blood.
As her body touched the fur-covered wooden surface, her eyes shot wide open and she sat upright, swaying slightly. Despite the nasty wound, she looked beautiful in the dimness of the cabin, her translucent skin glowing, her auburn hair bright. She could have been Thor’s daughter.
Kolbjorn cursed inwardly. She was a thief! He had spent so many days since he first saw her imagining who she was, what her life was like, what she was good at.
She was good at stealing, that’s what she was.
Kolbjorn had lost his honor in front of his father because of her. And now Alfarr had tried to kill him, and who knew what lies he had told Jarl Bjorn once he woke up.
Bringing the necklace back was now a matter of life and death.
He sank to his knees in front of her. Her pupils dilated and her lips parted, a blush touching her cheeks. She smelled of wet wool, of snow, of sweet apples and fresh berries just kissed by first frost.
The scent made him itch to remove all her clothes and taste her skin.
But no. He could not have any feelings towards her other than contempt. Now that he had her, the first thing to do was get a hold of the necklace. He sank his hands into the warmth of the space between her cloak and her body, looking for where she had hidden the necklace, but his fingers only found her thin waist under her clothes…and her soft breasts.
She began pushing at his hands. “Get your hands off me, Kolbjorn!”
But he did not move. “How do you know my name?”
She began clawing at his hands like a cat. “Stop that!”
He found the leather purse, which was sewn together by a thin track of tiny metal teeth. As he pulled at a little tab, it began sliding and opening the purse like the mouth of a beast.
Who was she that she had such a magical thing?
The woman gasped and tried to jump up, but he pinned her to the bench. “You are going nowhere, thief!”
She fought with her hands. “Please, Kolbjorn, I need it. Without it my mother will die!”
Kolbjorn rummaged in the purse. “Your mother will die without a necklace? From greed, just like you?”
She snatched the purse from his hands, but he got it back and continued his search. The contents were strange. A round, long, dark-green glass vessel filled with liquid; thin, transparent bags made a material he could not identify that rustled under his fingers; and finally, the cold metal he was seeking.
He removed the object, and sure enough the Necklace of Northern Lights’ diamonds glimmered in his palm.
The woman let out a pained cry and darted for it, but Kolbjorn eluded her hands and stood up.
The woman threw a pained stare at him and chewed her lower lip, her chest rising and falling. Something in Kolbjorn made him want to give her the necklace, to do anything to stop her looking at him like that. No. This was just a trap.
“Stop glowering at me.” He put the necklace into the leather belt purse he always wore. “Your tricks won’t work.”
He then set to work starting a fire. There was always firewood in the cabin—Kolbjorn had often come here hunting with Jarl Bjorn, Alfarr, Ebbe and others, so he knew the surroundings well. The memory of rare happy moments, just a glimpse of what being part of the family would have been like, made Kolbjorn clench his fists from a dull ache. They had just been men hunting then, he and his brothers, they had not hated each other when concentrated on a common target. But wishing it could be different was futile.
When the fire cracked and the homey smell of woodsmoke filled the room, Kolbjorn stretched his hands towards the flames, the warmth burning his cold fingers. He felt the woman’s unmoving eyes on him, like claws, her desperation palpable.
“Look at me all you want.” He rubbed his hands. “You will not escape. Punishment always comes to those who commit crime.”
The smell of crisp apples tickled his nose as she sank to the floor next to him. He felt her hands on his arm, and as he turned to her and saw her pleading eyes, something ached in him.
“You have no idea what this would do, Kolbjorn. I know you’re a good man. Give the necklace back to me. You’re killing someone innocent, someone who doesn’t deserve to die. I’m so close to saving her, all I need is the necklace. Please!”
His throat clenched. A small part of him wished he could alleviate her pain, but he pushed that part somewhere deep and shut it up. He could not trust her.
“I am not killing anyone. It’s your own fault. Did you really think that your actions wouldn’t have consequences?”
She swallowed, tears glittering in her eyes, and let go of him. “The only consequence I care about is that she lives. Nothing else matters to me.”
Kolbjorn was torn. Her tone, the way she spoke, told him she did not lie. He’d never known a mother’s love, never known the woman who brought him into this world. He had grown up seeing how Alfarr and Ebbe’s mother cared about them and loved them—and spoiled them. Kolbjorn often wondered how his life would have been if his mother were alive.
The fire warmed the air, and condensation stopped steaming out of their mouths with every breath. Wind continued to howl outside, throwing gusts of snow against the walls of the hut.
“What happened to your mother?” Kolbjorn asked, before he could stop himself.
He cursed his foolish heart. He should not care. He should not believe her. He was going to bring her to justice and, most likely, his father was going to slit her throat. The thought made his stomach turn, but that was the way of things. He could not change it. She was a thief.
“My mother is sick, and I need money to pay for her treatment. The treatment—a new kidney—is there, and I must let the doctors know by tomorrow if we will take it or not, because there are others who need it. It costs a fortune, but it’s the only way to save her life. I already have about half, and all I need is this necklace. Buyers are already lined up.”
“A kidney is a treatment? What kind of witchcraft is that? You are a fool if you believe any such tricks will save your mother’s life.”
Her nostrils flared. “That’s not the point. It will work. It must!”
Kolbjorn wondered, if he had been grown enough to prevent his mother’s death, even if it meant doing dishonorable things, would he have done it?
He probably would, but after that, he’d take the punishment.
And that was what she should do.
“Do you realize that when the snowstorm is over, I’ll bring you to my father and he’ll most likely punish you?”
The woman’s face paled. “Punish me?”
“You stole the jewelry that he needs to become a king. He might even kill you.”
“No. If I die, she die
s! She can’t die!”
Kolbjorn jumped to his feet. He’d had enough of this. “Then she dies! Sometimes mothers die.”
She followed him. “All right, take the jewelry,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “Let your father be a king. I can figure something else out. Without the necklace, it’s bad. But without me, she has no chance. Just let me go.”
Kolbjorn made a step towards her. The blood on her forehead glistened in the light of the fire, her beautiful face illuminated by the warm, golden light, rubies playing in her hair. Despite himself, desire began burning in him. “What is your name?” he said.
“Rachel.”
He frowned. The name was foreign, something he had never heard. But beautiful. Strong. Like her.
He chased the thought away. “You are going nowhere, Rachel. You will pay for what you have done.”
Chapter Six
Rachel’s head throbbed as if someone hacked at it with an ax. But even more painful were the desperation and anguish that burned her like salt in an open wound.
He had taken the necklace, and she could not get it back by force. And he was also going to take her to his father for some sort of punishment. The thought chilled her bones. If only he understood; if only he knew—
Maybe she could seduce him, make him see the situation differently.
That would be a dangerous game—Kolbjorn was way too attractive, and she was way too inexperienced with men, having avoided guys who showed an interest. Ever since her father had left, she’d been terrified of losing people she loved, and ever since her mom had gotten sick, she’d had no emotional capacity for anything else.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. It was as if she’d forgotten how to pronounce words. She frowned. Her head ached.
Kolbjorn took her hand, and warmth spread through her body, even though they were both cold. “You are still bleeding. I’ll repair the wound.”
He helped her sit back next to the fire, probably so that he could see better. He rummaged in the wooden chest in the far corner of the room.
“Does anyone live here?” Rachel asked, looking around. “It looks so basic.”