Sword-wielding was not the domain of the Einherjar, or even just the Valkyrie. Charlee learned the very next morning after her arrival in the Second Hall that there was an aspect of Amica life that Ylva had overlooked in her apprenticeships. Everyone, Kine and Amica, was expected to prepare for war and fighting. A Kine’s early morning was devoted to training their bodies and minds, maintaining physical discipline and mental strength. The Amica were not excluded from the expectation, and the main hall itself was given over to training for two hours before breakfast was served.
It was then that Ylva’s parting gift to Charlee made sense. Ylva had handed Charlee the long parcel, wrapped in the marbled paper that Victoria liked to make, as Charlee had been leaving the house, a duffel bag her sole piece of luggage. “May they serve you well,” Ylva told her. “They did me.”
Inside were two short swords, or long knives. Charlee couldn’t decide which. They had long handles that ran almost half their length, while the other half was wickedly sharp blade. They were light and easy to swish around with one hand. Charlee knew they had been made for Ylva, for her upper strength and height.
On the first morning of training in the big room, Charlee had been assessed for her overall fitness by a sharp-eyed Einherjar called Howard, while everyone around her was parrying, tackling, and going through balletic movements with swords and knives and more. It was a large-scale gym without any of the usual equipment found in human ones, and no padding. When they fell, they fell flat upon the marbled floor, with nothing to cushion their error.
Howard had not been impressed. “You must build your fitness first,” he said. “Your wind, in particular. I will set a program for you and you must follow it. What is your weapon? Do you have one?”
“I...er...yes, I have one,” she said, realizing then the practical nature of Ylva’s gift.
“Bring it tomorrow. I will examine it for its usefulness.” He had left her to complete the routine he had set for her, a series of deceptively simple exercises that left her heaving for breath and trembling with exhaustion.
The next morning, she brought her knife-swords with her. Howard had examined them critically, then nodded. “I have someone who can teach you how to use these. Begin your program. They will find you.”
An Einherjar appeared ten minutes later, weaving his way through the crowded work-floor. Bahram looked young and forced Charlee to keep reminding herself that looking young, here, didn’t necessarily mean young. His English was good, but accented. He examined the swords as Howard had done, his lips pushed into a doubtful purse. “Good for stabbing,” he decided.
“Howard said you knew how to use them,” Charlee pointed out.
Bahram grinned and stepped back from her. He was wearing gym pants and a T-shirt, and a sword belt around his hips. From the belt he slid two curved swords, which he began to spin like scissor blades, until with a lunge, he thrust one at her. It came to a stop mere fractions of an inch from her stomach. “I know how to use them,” he agreed, his olive face amused.
And so she had begun her training with the swords. Eira had smiled when she saw them in Charlee’s hands. “I remember those. They were Ylva’s.” She patted her own sword, strapped to her hips. “A long sword is still the ultimate weapon.”
“I thought you would prefer a short sword,” Charlee told her, for she had already learned that Eira had emerged from the Roman Empire and worked her way across Europe and into Scandinavia, long before Europe and Scandinavia even acquired those names.
“Short swords are only good if that is all the enemy has, too. A long sword has reach.”
Not everyone trained within the great hall itself. The Kine who were attached to the Second Hall lived in Oslo, but only a small number of them actually lived in the hall. Still, some of the Kine chose to come to the hall each morning for their training, while many others trained at local gyms, by themselves, and only attended training in the hall when they wanted specific arms practice. At the hall, they could tap into the combined knowledge of centuries of warfare, pitting their skills against others and keeping them fresh.
Howard, Charlee discovered, was the hall’s chief stallari, although for such a big hall, he had lieutenants and assistants to help complete his work. He supervised the training but was also responsible for weaponry, armor, and general battle-readiness.
“That is our primary role,” Eira explained. “It was handed down from Odin himself that we prepare and always be ready to defend Midgard.”
“Against what?”
“Against whatever aggressor appears.”
“What about Man himself?” Charlee asked. “He seems to be doing a pretty good job of destroying himself, these days.”
Eira had smiled. “Man has been fighting man since the first two men picked up rocks and threw them at each other. The weapons are more powerful now, but Man is still essentially weak. They will need us if ever...” She shrugged. “Who knows?” she said, her smile fading. “It has been a long time and Midgard continues to remain isolated and safe from the other worlds, but we prepare anyway.”
Eternal preparation against an enemy they did not believe was a threat anymore. Charlee began to think that Darwin’s theory about diminishing numbers through suicide and despair and plain disinterest might be right, but it was not something she would ever be able to ask. The loss of a single Kine was a tragedy for them, and they mourned each and every fallen and departed Kine endlessly, remembering them in conversations and referring to their deeds and achievements.
Ylva was among those numbers, and Charlee learned more about her dramatic and heart-wrenching decision to live as a human, along with her exploits and abilities as a Valkyrie. “Ylva might have become Regin,” Eira pointed out offhandedly, “but for her emotional weakness.”
Once a Kine chose to live as a human, they were cut off from the others and treated as if they had died, which eventually became true. Whatever the sustaining force that kept the Kine alive through the ages ceased to work on them once they had left the halls forever. Even though their lives as humans would be long, they would eventually age, wither and die, just like the humans they had chosen to live among.
Asher had been unusual in that he had refused to pretend that Ylva was dead. He had championed her decision to leave, which had not made him popular among the very traditional Kine. Once Ylva had left, he continued to see her, making her a manager of his various business affairs and keeping her a part of his human life. When Ylva had brought Charlee to Eira, to ask Eira to take her in as an Amica, it had been the first time they had seen each other since Ylva had left, decades before. At the time, Charlee had thought the air between them was strained. Now she understood better why Ylva had been treated so distantly by Eira.
Life in the Second Hall was just as busy as her time in Ylva’s house. Charlee’s apprenticeship there had prepared her very well for the life of an Amica. She was the first new recruit in several years and with Eira training her, it might have been difficult to adapt. But all the basic domestic skills were already ingrained, which left Eira with the task of educating her in the ways and history of the Kine.
As the newest recruit, Charlee received a great deal of scrutiny from every Kine she met, particularly the Einherjar. But it wasn’t until the first formal dinner after her arrival at the hall that Charlee really understood the shape of her potential future. The dinner was not an official one, but Stefan and Eira wanted the Amica to serve the meal as women would have traditionally done. Charlee had been assigned to the task, along with six other Amica who were also a part of the hall.
She had dressed in the plain apron dress and underdress and reported to the kitchen that served the hall itself and glanced at the other Amica. They were all stunningly beautiful women and Charlee tugged at the layers of her dress, feeling uncomfortable and out of place.
The work of serving the meal was physically demanding. As the cooks doled out the meals in a controlled frenzy, the Amica carried plates four at a time out to the big
tables that had been set up in the hall. There were four courses and beverages to see to, each course had to be cleared before the next was served, and while the diners ate, the Amica washed and dried the dishes of the previous course. Two of the Amica would circle the tables at all times, with pitchers of mead, to top up mugs and glasses.
When it was Charlee’s turn with the pitcher, she took the pitcher with secret relief, for serving drinks seemed like an easier chore. But even as she was filling the first mug, she learned differently.
An Einherjar on the opposite side of the table from where Charlee was standing looked at her with a critical eye. “You’re the new one, aren’t you?”
All heads at the table turned to look at her.
“The new what?” she asked.
“The newest Amica. You’ve got a scar across your face. I heard about you.”
They were all looking at her now.
“She’s a pretty one, even with the scar,” one of the others on her side of the table said. “I might have to steal more than just a drink from her.”
Charlee’s pulse leapt. The one who had spoken was unshaved, bleary eyed and carried extra weight, which was no small feat for an Einherjar who worked out for two hours every day.
One of the others hitched his hips, moving along the bench to clear a few inches, which he patted. “Come and have a seat, sweet one. Let’s talk.”
Charlee looked at him. He was ugly. There was no other word to describe his pinched features and lopsided nose. He was still patting the bench, his grin revealing missing teeth.
“We’ll talk when you learn to speak intelligently,” she said, then froze. Where had that come from? It had just dropped out of her mouth. The Kine expected respect at all times, especially from the Amica.
But the entire table had burst into loud guffaws of laughter. Some of them banged the tabletop with their fists. The sound made heads at neighboring tables turn to see what was happening.
“Oh, hark the lass!” the one with the bleary eyes said. “You’re going to have to work to keep up with her, Denney.”
One of the younger-looking ones grinned at her. “Come and sit by me,” he said. “I guarantee you’ll find the conversation stimulating.”
“I could prick my fingers with a dagger and find that stimulating, too,” she shot back, “but it doesn’t mean I find it pleasant.”
The whole table roared with laughter again, most of the men rocking back, throwing their heads back to guffaw loudly. They banged the table with their fists, making the plates and cups jump. All the diners at the tables around them were looking over now, too.
They like sass, Charlee realized, as she filled the last of the cups. They like being challenged. She drifted over toward the next table.
“Hey, don’t leave us yet!” the bleary-eyed one called out.
“I left you behind a long time ago,” Charlee shot back, picking up a mug from the next table.
The occupants of both tables laughed at that one, and the fellow next to bleary-eyes nudged him in the ribs.
“You have good taste,” the Einherjar said as she placed his mug back in front of him. “We’re much smarter at this table.”
Charlee looked them over deliberately and carefully. “I don’t see it,” she said, shaking her head.
The laughter was even louder this time.
Her heart thumping, Charlee filled more mugs and moved on to the next table, where the men there also tried to cajole or wheedle her into joining them and she would throw back insults of her own.
Charlee spent the rest of the night pouring mead. None of the other Amica would trade with her. The oldest of them shook her head. “You’re entertaining them. Whatever you’re doing, it’s spreading cheer. Keep doing it.”
Eira had agreed, much later that night, as Charlee had helped her pull the pins from her hair and comb it out. “I don’t think anyone has tried it before. A choosy Amica who is just a little bit unattainable will give them a novelty they’ve not had in a good long while. You might very well have them tripping over themselves next time to earn your approval.”
Eira’s guess was correct. She assigned Charlee to work at the very next formal occasion, and the joshing and heckling began almost before the opening formalities were completed. One of the Einherjar caught her around the waist as she tried to move away from the group she was serving—on this occasion, they were all standing and moving freely around the room—and Charlee had almost squeaked her shock aloud. The mead sloshed in the pitcher she was carrying.
He had pulled her up hard against him. “I heard about you,” he said, and his hot breath fanned her face. “You’ll find me more than agreeable to you, girl.”
Charlee stamped on his foot with as much force as she could muster when she was being almost pulled off her feet. Like before, she wasn’t sure where the instinctive response came from, except that the vaguest memory of historical romance heroines doing something similar tickled at the back of her mind.
The Einherjar howled in pain, for she had aimed not for his toes, but the arch of his foot. He dropped her and his mug, which was still empty. It gave a loud, hollow “bong!” sound. But both his howl and the clattering mug were drowned out by the laughter all around them.
“She bites!” came a delighted cry.
Charlee was trembling, but she looked at the man bent over and awkwardly balancing on one foot while he rubbed the other. “You dropped your mug,” she told him as evenly as she could, then turned and moved away, her chin in the air.
Three days after the stomping incident, Charlee saw Asher in the round hall. She had been hurrying to clear the big boardroom before the full Council meeting began, and her arms were full of notepads, pens, and two empty glasses. By the time she had finished clearing the long table, Council members had already been arriving for the meeting, milling around the edges of the room and talking quietly, making her hurry.
She slipped out through the big doors, and cut across the round hall, toward the narrow doorway next to the grand entrance to the main hall. The doorway accessed the service passages behind and on either side of the hall, and provided short cuts to many of the function rooms, minor halls and meeting rooms on this level. She had been so intent on not dropping the glasses and juggling the handful of pens and notepads that she had taken no notice of anyone around her. Besides, the central hall was always full of strangers, many of them literally passing through, using the portals to reach another hall somewhere else. Even in three short weeks, she already knew enough people by name that if she acknowledged everyone she saw, which would encourage conversation, it would take her an hour to cross the hall. So she had kept her head down, watching the glasses and her footing.
A hand gripped her arm, bringing her to such a sudden stop that she almost lost her footing. Her momentum carried her around in a swinging arc and she clutched her burdens desperately as the glasses jogged in her arms, a breathless gasp pushing from her.
Asher looked down at her, his expression neutral. “Charlee.”
Cold shock (no, it’s fear) gripped her chest. What would he say? Do?
But he did nothing. He just stood there. Even his grip on her arm ceased, as he dropped his hand to his side. He was wearing black jeans and a white business shirt. It looked very human, she decided.
His gaze flickered over the length of her, much as hers had done with him. His eyes were bloodshot. And he hadn’t shaved. His cheeks were bristly.
“How are you, Asher?” she asked.
“How very polite of you,” he growled. “I’m already hearing stories about you. You toy with them. Deride them.”
“You make it sound like I’m condescending.”
“Aren’t you?”
She wanted to say ‘no’, firmly. But hadn’t there been just a tiny bit of superiority driving her flashy comebacks? Wasn’t it that in the back of her mind she held the belief, deep in her subconscious, that she was smarter than them?
Asher’s jaw rippled. “You think
none of us are good enough for you.”
It felt like a slap to the face. “That’s not true,” she denied hotly. “They like that I’m…unavailable.” At the last second, she recalled the word Eira had used to describe what she was doing. Asher’s words were all negative. They put the wrong spin on it. But were there others out there thinking as he did? Did they resent her?
It was also terrifying to hear Asher include himself in the body of Einherjar that he believed she was rejecting.
“Unavailable?” he repeated, with something like scorn in his tone. “But you’re not unavailable, are you?”
There was nothing she could say to that. She was now an Amica. Her scar was of little protection, her intelligence less so. Sooner or later, she would draw the eye of an Einherjar, one who would drive through all her petty defenses and stake his claim on her. She had the right to refuse—they all did—but why refuse? She had become an Amica for that very reason, or so everyone believed.
Even Asher believed it.
“There’s only one Einherjar I’m waiting for,” Charlee said. It was flat, unvarnished truth.
Asher’s jaw loosened. His lips parted. Surprise, as much as Asher ever showed surprise. He glanced from side to side and shifted so that he was standing closer to her. “Tell me,” he growled. “Please tell me you didn’t do this based on some misbegotten belief that I would rescue you?”
Fear circled through her, making her cold. Asher wasn’t reacting the way she thought he would to her revelation. “Rescue?” she repeated. “No, not rescue.”
He scowled. “Truth for truth,” he said. “Why the Amica?”
Truth time. She tried to draw a full breath, but the fear was closing down her throat. Squeezing her chest. “I wanted to be a part of your world. All of it. Not just the paltry little human side of it you offered.”
He considered her, his jaw hard. “So presented with a choice between everything I could give you and nothing, you chose nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” she said quickly. “This life, it’s far from nothing.”
The Branded Rose Prophecy Page 42