Estrid (The Valhalla Series Book 2)

by Johanne Hildebrandt

  “Wolf father, I greet you.”

  The hair stood up on the back of Estrid’s neck as the being took shape. The big figure resembled Agnatyr, but this man was more handsome with sea-blue eyes and with a god’s power shimmering around his stately figure.

  “Loki,” Estrid whispered, but Laufey’s son wasn’t looking at her, but rather at Ragna, who was groveling in the dust before his feet.

  “I offer you a gift, my master.”

  Estrid stared at the damned. The stories about all the virgins Ragna had sacrificed to Loki were true, and now she was going to be one of them, nourishing the false one with her life force. Darkness closed in around her, whispering, but Estrid wasn’t afraid of anything anymore. They can’t hurt me if I don’t let them.

  Empty of fear, she saw Loki lean forward, leaning toward her, like the beast he was. Bring it on, she thought as the god grabbed her by the throat. Kill me, so I can finally go to my mistress.

  “I’m not afraid of you or death. I welcome you both.”

  Just then the fire blazed up, and an ominous darkness settled over the land. A stately being rose from the ground with a wolf by her side. She wore a coat of raven wings, and her hair billowed over her infinitely beautiful charred face.

  “She’s mine,” roared the queen of the underworld in a voice so powerful that Loki was hurled backward over the desolate landscape along with the seeress as if they were dry leaves in an autumn storm.

  All that existed was Hel’s magnificent power as she hovered over the ground. The dark dísir swirled around her body, baring their teeth and claws, but there was neither good nor evil in the power that radiated from the goddess, just the eternal power that filled the nine worlds with its ruthlessness.

  Estrid dropped to her knees, overcome by her mistress’s beauty.

  “Hel, my queen, you bless me.”

  The death goddess’s eyes radiated silver light as she reached out her hand to Estrid to escort her to Helheim and the stillness of the afterworld. Beloved Hel, queen of the underworld, was finally bringing her home.

  “I liberate you.” The goddess’s voice was as forceful as the roars of a thousand wild animals and yet as mild as the sound of a flower bud bursting into bloom in all its beauty.

  Tears poured down Estrid’s cheeks, and she wanted nothing other than to be united with the death goddess and to become one with her for eternity. She saw her dead ancestors standing in multiple rows behind the goddess’s back, and their faces contained only peace and anticipation.

  Estrid trembled with longing to take Hel’s outstretched hand and be free, but she couldn’t. Not yet, not when her mother and family were threatened with ruination.

  “Your Majesty, queen, mistress of life and death, hear my prayer. Let me stay and endure your trials and tests,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  The light from Hel’s eyes shone like the night sky over her shoulders, but there was no anger in the goddess’s power, only muteness.

  Then Hel’s strength grew, and now she filled the firmament, hovering over the wasteland beneath the bloodred sky.

  “Your sacrifice will be great, as will my harvest.”

  Hel extended her arms, and the dark dísir poured out of her like liquid darkness onto the ground while ravens filled the sky. Then Hel’s face turned away, and Estrid was hurled back into her life.

  Estrid took a wheezing breath and clung to the bench. She was by the hearth again. The queen of Helheim and Niflheim hadn’t failed Estrid, her loyal servant, by allowing her to be devoured by the air walker in her time of need.

  She took a deep breath as the blood burned in her veins. She was living on borrowed time, and she needed to use it to the fullest.

  A whimper made her turn around. Ragna lay huddled on the earthen floor beside her, quivering and trembling.

  She looked up at Estrid, her eyes wide.

  “Be gone, you abomination!” Ragna hissed. The seeress’s face was filled with horror as she shuffled away from Estrid. “Cursed are we who let evil into our valley.”

  Estrid stared vacantly at the wretched seeress, who cringed before her feet. Her Loki hadn’t been able to help her.

  Ragna had poisoned Estrid and darkened her mind with witchcraft so she could be abducted and forcibly married. But she hadn’t been able to defeat her.

  Estrid cocked her head to the side and laughed.

  “You thought I was weak, an effortless target, easy to tame.”

  “You keep away from me!” Ragna wailed, her face white with horror as she made the gesture to ward off evil.

  Estrid looked down upon the old woman, who was trembling and pitiable.

  “You will bitterly regret your wicked deeds,” Estrid said, Hel’s dark power coursing through her.

  Asta ran her hand down her silk dress, so smooth that it was like caressing skin, as she walked through the hall filled to the brim with noble-born Svea, Scanians, and Danes all seeking an audience with Erik.

  The king sat on his throne, bored and frowning, and she knew he would summon her soon, as he always did after these consultations that had filled his days since they landed in Lejre.

  She sighed in relief. Serving the king really wasn’t a heavy burden.

  Asta had a chest full of expensive dresses and presents Erik had given her as thanks for the pleasures she gave him at night. The Svea treated her with respect, and she had been given her own slave, an elderly woman, who attended her.

  Asta smiled in amusement at some men who greeted her fawningly in the hope of gaining access to the king. This was everything she’d longed for—wealth, rank, and respect—and it had been easy to procure.

  “I’ve never seen a woman hold the king’s attention for so long.”

  Asta turned and smiled lovingly at the graying Axel, the powerful nobleman who controlled the king and his whole court.

  He did not favor the king’s infatuation with her. His suspicion was obvious, but so was the lust he meticulously tried to hide.

  “I’m just grateful that I’m able to indulge and pleasure my king and ruler, to grant him . . . relief,” she said with a smile, lightly grazing Axel’s hand.

  Axel’s lined face was a mask of scorn.

  “Don’t get too comfortable. Erik has a short attention span.”

  Asta giggled, the way young girls do when they’re insecure, to keep men from taking them seriously. As long as they thought of her as a wanton hussy, obsessed with parting her legs, she was safe.

  “I know all this, great Jarl Axel,” she said, humbly looking down. “And still I am grateful for this time, however short it may be. When the king tires of me, perhaps I can grant you a moment of satisfaction, my lord.”

  Axel’s lust was clearly visible beneath his look of disdain, but he turned his back to her anyway.

  “I’ve got my eyes on you, you Scylfing hussy,” he said.

  Asta sighed contentedly and continued sauntering through the crowd in the hall, well aware of the attention her body was receiving from powerful men who usually got what they wanted. It was almost too easy to play the part of the slightly simple young thing, who yearned solely for men’s erect truncheons.

  Olaf stood with the highborn Scylfings, and they had the same look of disdain as Axel as she nodded her head politely to them.

  “My king,” she greeted Olaf.

  “It looks like you’re thriving by my father’s side, maidservant. But then you always have spread your legs for anyone,” Olaf said, and laughed suggestively along with his retinue of men.

  Asta silently watched the young Scylfing aristocrats with their arms and armor and embroidered cloaks. Several of them had begged and pined for her, and they had been angry when she turned them down.

  “Do you envy your father the pleasures of Sjöfn?” she asked playfully, widening her eyes in mock surprise.

  Olaf was a child, sulking because she paid him no attention, but she didn’t intend to tolerate being scorned by the family.

  “W
e’re all thrilled to see a Scylfing so close to Erik,” Jarl Ulf said, silencing the young bucks with a look before stepping closer to her. “The king hasn’t spoken to Olaf in days. We fear that he’s fallen out of favor. Do you know anything?”

  This was a sign from Vanadís. Asta slowly shook her head, excitement storming through her body. She’d been waiting for the Radiant One to show her when the time was right, and now it had finally happened.

  “I have sworn my allegiance to Erik the Victorious,” she said in a low voice, gesturing toward him with a jerk of her head.

  There must be no crack in the image she presented, up until the last moment. Far too many eyes followed her, and the slightest misstep would ruin everything.

  Instead she turned smiling to the king’s servants, who waved her over.

  “Your father is a bull. His calf has a long way to go to measure up,” she said, and before Olaf had a chance to respond, she left them.

  Asta hurried to Erik’s chamber, lust burning between her thighs. Soon, all would venerate her.

  Sigrid angrily stormed into the servants’ simple little hall, empty but for sleeping benches and a few wooden chests. Gynnya lay in her bed, battered, her face so swollen and covered in bruises that she scarcely looked human.

  The Svea would pay dearly for this.

  “The Svea soldier jumped her when she was on her way to the smithy,” Ylva reported with a frown.

  Edmund stood in the crowd with the broad-shouldered warrior named Hawk by his side, and Sigrid could smell the stench of the warriors’ shame that they had allowed this to happen.

  “We found her naked and unconscious on the floor of the Sveas’ house,” the jarl said. “All the Svea had had their way with her.”

  Sigrid sat on the edge of the sleeping bench and dipped the rag that sat in the bowl of water.

  “It was my fault,” Gynnya whispered, but Sigrid just hushed the girl while she tenderly dabbed her swollen face.

  “The only ones who bear any blame in this are the Svea warriors,” Sigrid said, so livid she could hardly breathe. Who do they think they are, these lowborn scum who occupy my estate and rape my servants? Sigrid dabbed a bruise too hard, and Gynnya whimpered in pain.

  “This won’t do. Enough,” she said, and her eyes met Edmund’s. “They need to leave.”

  “But they’re here on the king’s orders.”

  Sigrid stood up and looked around at all the servants and farmhands crowded into the room, people who had worked on her estate for almost half a lifetime; they were staring at her as if everything were lost and she had no power.

  “Not even a king is above the law,” she said.

  Erik could take his damned threats and stuff them up his ass. Vanadís had chosen her, and she was the mistress of her own estate.

  “Fetch the men, and ask them to come and bring their axes and swords.”

  Sigrid leaned over Gynnya and carefully stroked her cheek.

  “Rest quietly and enjoy your vengeance, because the perpetrators are going to pay dearly for their actions.”

  King Erik’s servants opened the door so that Asta could enter the beautifully appointed room, its walls covered with tapestries and the bed covered in precious furs. Her hands quivered as she undid her hair and walked over to the little table where a silver dish of apples stood beside a pitcher of the expensive wine Erik was so fond of.

  Excitement sizzled in her body as she poured the bloodred drink into a gleaming glass goblet, as delicate as frozen air. Asta opened the silver pendant Sigrid had hung around her neck. This was the moment she’d waited for and dreamt of. The magnificent fate that Vanadís had accorded her was finally going to be fulfilled. Passion coursed through her bones as she took off all her clothes and lay down on the bed’s soft furs. All she needed to do now was wait.

  It didn’t take long before Erik came into the room, tired and so angry he didn’t even look at her.

  “Give me wine.”

  Asta trembled with arousal as she handed him the glass.

  “I don’t have time for games. Do your thing,” he said, and pulled out his prick.

  Asta knelt. He hardened in her mouth, and she looked up at her king expectantly as he drank the wine in one go. She could hardly restrain her lust as the glowing fire consumed her body in passion.

  Soon, soon it would happen. Asta sped up until Erik cried out and came in her mouth. Smiling, she wiped off his saltiness with the back of her hand, and when she stood up, Erik put his hand on his belly.

  “What . . .” The king moaned in pain, and at that moment his face stiffened with the realization.

  “My darling,” Asta whispered, and quickly pressed her hand over his mouth to stifle his call for help.

  He hit her in the face, tried to break free, but her desire filled her with unconquerable strength. Quick as a serpent, she coiled her leg around him and clung tightly to his body so he fell onto the bed.

  The poison worked quickly, just as Sigrid had promised. Excited, Asta watched as the king’s mouth filled with foam and his whole body shook as the poison ate away his insides.

  “My mistress says hello,” Asta whispered, and then giggled from sheer glee.

  How she had longed for this!

  She held him tightly in her arms as the wild passion of seeing him die engulfed her, and she collapsed into a dark chasm of pure pleasure.

  Finally she had gotten to kill again. Erik’s eyes stared vacantly, and his mouth was full of foam bubbling over his blue lips.

  Greedily Asta drank up the life force that left him as his heartbeat weakened.

  “Not even a king can withstand my mistress,” she sighed contentedly.

  One last breath, and he died with a distorted smile as if he saw Valhalla.

  She tenderly stroked Erik’s cheeks and tucked him into the furs.

  “You served me well,” Asta whispered, filled with a contented bliss.

  Taking a life was the greatest of pleasures, but she had never before experienced anything so tremendous as killing a king. Gasping, she stroked the dead man’s cheek again. He was the powerful man who ruled the world. Everyone bowed in deference to him. And she’d cleared him out of the way with poisoned wine, and now everything was different. Asta giggled, so exhilarated that she was trembling and wanted to scream out her great power.

  But she had to remain calm.

  She dressed quickly and slipped out the door, where there was a guard on duty.

  “My master and king would like to rest after his enjoyments,” she lied, and the warrior couldn’t help but smile.

  “Yeah, I bet he does.”

  What fools men were, governed by desires and silliness. Giggling, Asta tiptoed out of the hall, the life force pulsing through her body, her cheeks flushed. No one stopped her, and she gave everyone a friendly nod as she passed, keeping her back straight and making herself walk at a calm, steady pace.

  It was already dark when Asta walked across the courtyard. No one noticed her slip into the shadows and hurry away from the royal hall, over the burial mounds where the old kings rested. It wouldn’t be long before they discovered that Erik was dead, but if she was lucky, she would manage to get away and make her way to safety. Asta held up her skirts and ran through the trees.

  “I have done what you wanted, Vanadís,” she called out to the dark sky, and the goddess responded with a shriek in the distance, filled with triumph. “I gave you the ultimate sacrificial offering, my mistress!”

  Laughing, she ran toward freedom, victory carrying her feet forward.

  Vanadís’s colossal rage surged through Sigrid when she saw the Svea sitting on the benches outside the longhouse they had commandeered from her. Filthy vermin who thought they had the right to take whatever they felt like. But Sigrid wasn’t going to go along with what they wanted anymore.

  “Line up!” she ordered.

  Their leader, Yngvald, stood.

  “King mother, we need to discuss the estate’s defenses,” he said indi
fferently. “Your hird hasn’t done a decent day’s work to protect you. This estate needs a palisade, and I am still waiting for the accounts from this royal estate and your other farms.”

  His eyes were bleary, and he reeked of the mead he’d downed.

  Sigrid smiled at the vermin with their unkempt beards, who glared back at her with their arms crossed. The time had come to stop deferring to them and show that she was a Scylfing.

  “Leave my land,” she said flatly.

  The cocky trespassers laughed crudely. They sat on her benches as a direct affront to Sigrid in her own home.

  “Didn’t we already settle this? We’re here at King Erik’s request to protect his son’s estate. This is Svealand, and King Erik is the king of all of it.”

  Sigrid nodded to Edmund, who called his warriors forward.

  “You broke the Geatish laws prohibiting violence against women when you raped the maid Gynnya, who is a servant here on the estate,” Sigrid announced.

  The Svea looked at one another and then started guffawing.

  “She begged and pleaded to be screwed,” Yngvald said, moving his hand to his sword.

  “It is against the law to violate a free woman,” Edmund said, taking a step closer to their leader.

  “What, Scylfing, are you going to drag us before the lawspeaker at the Thing?” Yngvald mocked.

  “If necessary.”

  Yngvald put his hand on Edmund’s shoulder.

  “Look, you seem like a good fellow who understands that women always lie. That tramp came looking for us. I’m sure you know how it is.”

  Sigrid smiled joylessly. What spineless bums these louts were, each one a shell of conceit filled with lies. Still, she ought to thank them for giving her the grounds to get rid of them.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen such pathetic excuses for men here on my land,” she said.