He chortled at his own joke, the sound echoing off the walls of the room.
Bayan did not respond, his face set, his eyes cautious. The priest fumbled with a bible in his hand, his fingers shuffling clumsily amongst the pages. He glanced apprehensively at the Viking King, who nodded.
“Begin,” he said.
Æva heard nothing of what was said, not the blessings of the priest, or the vows Bayan made. She spoke when prompted, barely aware of the words she said even as she formed them. A rushing sound thundered in her ears, deafening her. She gazed at the scene in front of her without seeing. Her mind had detached itself, unable to accept what was happening.
She blinked, briefly wrenching herself into the present when Bayan took her left hand, his fingers sliding a ring on to her finger. She closed her eyes as it slid home, feeling like he was ramming closed the bolt of a slave collar around her throat. In front of her eyes danced an image: a pair of dark brown eyes boring intensely into hers.
“If I could go back, I would leave you in that tent. And I would have died on the battlefield... This is my choice.”
The words reverberated in her head, the timbre of his voice shocking her out of her trance. She stared up into Bayan’s face, the cobalt blue the wrong colour. He smiled consolingly at her and it was ingrained in her now to try to smile back, but her face felt like it was encased in stone, frozen in grief.
“Aha,” the jeering voice of Gunnlaug cut through the sudden silence. “It is done!”
Æva looked down at the ring glittering on her finger and allowed herself a single tear. It was done.
Aeva The Wild Page 24