Estrid (The Valhalla Series Book 2)

by Johanne Hildebrandt

  “Who?” Sweyn asked, irritated.

  Judging from that grin, the old warrior with his curly red beard must have been overly full of ale.

  “The young maid who killed King Erik,” Ax-Wolf said, all hot and bothered. “I swear by Mjölnir I’ve never seen a fairer maiden.”

  “I have served you in every way, but this just isn’t doable,” Ylva said, shaking her head so her thin braids danced around her face. “The estate is already full of people, and if the carts don’t make it here from the other farms, there won’t be anything to eat after the funeral pyre.”

  How many times had they quarreled about food and banquets? Sigrid leaned back in her seat and looked at her housekeeper, whose cheeks were flushed and her eyes angry. Her apron was stained, and she looked about ready to collapse from all her responsibilities. Borghild giggled from where she sat with her sewing in her lap, and Eir turned around to keep from bursting out laughing. None of the women of the court, all working on needlework, could keep a straight face with Ylva’s constant complaining.

  Only Lia, Edmund’s wife, had any sympathy for Ylva, which Sigrid certainly didn’t share. She was far too tired of the housekeeper’s bellyaching.

  “If it’s such a burden for you to serve your queen, I’ll have to find someone who’ll be happier to do it.”

  Ylva’s eyes widened, and she was about to say something, when the door opened and Edmund stepped in.

  “Mistress? Could I have a few words with you in private? It’s extremely important.”

  She nodded, relieved to be done with Ylva, who angrily left the room. Lia nodded her head in deference to her husband before leaving along with the other nicely dressed ladies.

  When the hall was empty, Edmund simply stood in the middle of the room, reserved and silent.

  “What’s happened?” Sigrid finally asked. “Have the messengers I sent to Sweyn returned?”

  Sweyn’s claim he would marry Estrid so tormented her that she could hardly sleep. She saw only obstacles, yet held out a faint hope that Sweyn would requite her feelings.

  “No,” Edmund replied. “They must have encountered trouble on the way.”

  Sigrid furrowed her brow. What was her jarl hiding? He didn’t sound worried or angry, and he didn’t seem very willing to look for his men. It didn’t matter anymore, not now that Sweyn had chosen her daughter over her. She reached for her mead and drank some of the sweet drink as Edmund cleared his throat and pulled his hand over his short dark beard. His hair was neatly combed, and there was no dust or mud on his boots. His tunic was clean and his belt polished as if he had dressed up for this moment.

  “You are the most beautiful woman who has ever lived,” he said hoarsely.

  Sigrid shivered, watching the jarl, because she didn’t like where this was headed.

  “Your strength is like a thousand suns, and peace and fertility sprout up in your footsteps, you who are beloved and feared by all. A rain of fire falls upon your enemies, my queen. You are everyone’s destroyer in all your power. You are life and death, birth and destruction, and I respect you more than life.”

  Sigrid’s eyebrows shot up. That was Vanadís’s hymn that she greeted the day with every morning. It wasn’t his to repeat.

  “I am unworthy of you in everything, and yet I ask that you marry me, for you are the only one I love.”

  She frowned at the man who had shared her burdens and bed for years. He was uncommonly handsome, but he had no power, land, or wealth. To marry him would be to give away what she owned without getting anything in return. And he had already grown too used to what power he had on loan as a jarl. He had only just recently challenged her. Now that she had once again secured power, he was being obsequious.

  “You already have a good wife.”

  Edmund dropped to his knee before her, his blue eyes filled with adoration.

  “I married her only because it was your will, and I would willingly repudiate her. You are my queen and the only one I carry in my heart. Let me serve you and protect you as your husband, and I swear to honor you until the day I die.”

  “No,” Sigrid said coolly. “It cannot be.”

  A rebuffed Edmund stood back up again.

  “I hope this wasn’t inconvenient for you,” he mumbled irritably, and now she saw the anger in his eyes.

  She had to get rid of him, but in a way that wouldn’t make him too angry.

  “Edmund,” she said tenderly, “there is no man I esteem as highly, but it’s not up to me. This decision belongs to my family. If I were to remarry, it would have to be with an aristocratic king who reinforced the Scylfings’ power.”

  “I know,” he said stiffly with a curt nod. “May I go, my queen?”

  “You may go,” she said calmly.

  Only after the door closed did she sit down and put her hands over her face. Damn you, Sweyn Forkbeard, damn your duplicity and your deceit and all the grief you’ve caused me. I will never let you marry Estrid.

  The door opened again, and Toste, freshly bathed and fairly tipsy, stumbled in uninvited, as if he owned the place.

  “I have to know one thing,” he said, pulling his hand over his combed beard.

  “Ask your question,” she replied tiredly.

  “How long did you plan that revenge against Erik?”

  Sigrid drank the last of her mead and got up to pour herself more from the pitcher sitting on the wooden chest.

  “From the moment he wanted to kill me and my babies on the day they were born.”

  Her father nodded, pleased, his eyes filled with pride and admiration.

  “Close to fifteen years.”

  Sigrid silently filled two goblets with mead. Planning Erik’s death, from fostering Asta to finding the type of poison that killed the fastest and most reliably, had been a pleasure and a delight.

  “Weren’t you afraid the Svea would turn on Olaf?”

  Sigrid shrugged. She had thought long and hard about that, but Erik’s family didn’t have anyone who could take Olaf’s place, and she knew they’d rather fight to the death than release their hold on the Svea folklands.

  “I figured Axel, the kingmaker, would take Olaf under his wing and put him on the throne to benefit himself. He had far too much to lose from Erik’s death.”

  “You gambled on your own son’s life.”

  She glared at her father.

  “Like you gambled on mine when you married me off to Erik,” she said, handing him his goblet.

  Toste smiled wryly.

  “True,” he said, then emptied the goblet and stood up with a loud burp. “Your jarl was in a really bad mood when he came out just now. Did you get tired of screwing that poor slob?”

  Sigrid sighed heavily. She had a headache.

  “He wanted to marry me.”

  Toste laughed so loudly that she couldn’t help but smile. He bent over, slapping his knees, and it took a long time before he recovered and wiped his eyes, grinning.

  “You’ve got to get rid of him,” he said, suddenly serious. “Do it soon. There are men in my hird who are vastly superior to him, who deserve the jarldom. They are battle-scarred men who don’t spare anyone in war. Your men here are lazy cats, living pampered lives in comfort.”

  “Choose the best one,” she said with an indifferent nod. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

  “I will, and he’s going to be ugly so you won’t screw the poor guy to pieces.” Toste stood up to leave but stopped in the doorway and turned around. “Suitors will come from near and far, hungry for your power and wealth.”

  “I know,” she replied. Her head hurt from too little sleep and too much mead. “This time I’m going to pick my own husband, though.”

  “No one has a choice. Everything is already woven by the Norns,” Toste said with a shrug.

  Sigrid massaged her aching forehead. This was why she should have married Sweyn before Toste ruined everything, damned old pig.

  “We’ll see how it turns out,” she said with a he
avy sigh.

  It was as if Sjöfn herself had descended to the mortals. Sweyn appreciated why Erik hadn’t been able to resist the woman who sent him to his death, and why Ax-Wolf was so excited, because he’d never laid eyes on a more beautiful young woman.

  Asta’s light blond hair cascaded around her heart-shaped face. Her body swelled voluptuously within her dress, and her smile was like a lewd welcoming invitation. Even his sister, Thyre, was no match for this woman’s beauty. Sweyn stopped in the middle of the room, gaping at the young woman.

  “You’ve done me a great service,” Sweyn said authoritatively.

  “Would you like me to service you in any other way, my king?” Asta asked, so provocatively that she might as well have spread her legs to him.

  “I do believe you can,” he said with obvious interest.

  He wanted to have her right here and now, and it took all his strength to refrain.

  “Tell me how you killed the king of Svealand, my heroine,” he said. “Your courage has saved the lives of many good men, and I will reward you amply for it.”

  “How amply?”

  Her eyes became just as shrewd as his battle-scarred warriors’. She really was a gem any way you looked at her. Sweyn could see that now.

  He waved over Finnvid, who brought a chest of silver and jewelry, enough treasure for her to live comfortably for the rest of her life.

  Her honey-blond hair fell over her lips as she leaned over her fortune.

  “Is that it?” she asked, disappointed, jutting out her lower lip like a pouting child.

  Sweyn picked out a heavy golden necklace, and she preened herself like a cat as he placed it around her neck.

  “Don’t push your luck,” he whispered into her ear, inhaling the sweet scent of her brazen lust.

  “This will do,” Asta said, stroking the necklace and turning to him with a smile. “I will tell you what you want to know, my king. My mistress sent me to kill the king in the name of Vanadís.”

  Sweyn handed the heroine a glass of expensive wine. There was one woman, the finest and cleverest of them all, who benefited from Erik’s death.

  “May I inquire as to your mistress’s name?”

  Asta regarded him for a long time, as if she couldn’t quite decide.

  “I swore I wouldn’t say and that I would serve her until death.”

  Sweyn ran his finger up and down her arm, and she immediately rubbed herself against him like a shameless hussy. He smiled with pleasure. Soon he would carry her over to the sleeping bench and screw her senseless.

  “King Erik was my sworn enemy,” Sweyn said. “Your mistress is my ally, and I, too, would like to honor her. I give you my word that your secret is safe with me.”

  Asta walked over to the chest she’d been given and ran her fingers through the treasure.

  “I would need more to reveal her name.”

  Sweyn laughed in delight at her bargaining. She truly wasn’t stupid, and it made her all the more attractive, because there was nothing less appealing than a brainless woman.

  He looked around the room at his men. Ax-Wolf stood, staring like a fool, his mouth hanging open. Finnvid was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and Ragnvald looked like a lovelorn puppy. Even Åke was devouring Asta with his eyes. Sweyn smirked at her shameless lewdness. She knew how close she was to having her clothes ripped off and being fucked by them all, and she was enjoying toying with them.

  “I offer you a husband from my hird. This would afford you a social rank, riches, and a farm,” he said. “And more cock than you can handle.”

  Her laugh was like the purring of a contented cat.

  “We’ll have to see about that,” she said, scrutinizing the men, who puffed themselves up and did their best to look manly.

  “It’s a deal,” she said, turning to Sweyn, “but only if I get to choose.”

  He nodded matter-of-factly.

  “After you tell me who you serve.”

  “All right, then,” Asta said, turning her deep-green eyes on him. “Her name is Sigrid Tostedotter, chosen one of Vanadís.”

  By Thor’s mighty blessings! Sweyn laughed with delight because he’d had a hunch. Like a fylgja, like his guardian spirit, Sigrid had once again aided him in battle and cleared his enemy out of the way, and it had happened right here in Lejre, the place where they had been together. Beloved Sigrid, savage valkyrie, she truly was his Vanadís.

  “You seem pleased with my answer, my king, even though she turned down your marriage proposal. You must know that she did it with a heavy heart. I’ve never seen Sigrid so sad as when she was forced to prioritize her son over her own happiness.”

  Sweyn walked over to the table and poured himself a stoup of mead while he gathered his thoughts. Lovely Sigrid, the finest of women. From the first moment he had laid eyes on her, he had known she was his and no one could take her place. Now that Erik was dead, she was free to be Sweyn’s.

  “Is she still beautiful?”

  Asta giggled, amused by the question.

  “Everyone knows she’s the fairest of women, more beautiful than a dís,” she said lovingly.

  She positioned herself so close that her breast grazed his arm.

  “She would be a most worthy queen for Your Majesty,” Asta whispered, gently stroking his thigh, but the lust he had felt for her was completely gone now.

  “How does Sigrid live?” he asked, taking a step away from the temptress.

  Asta shrugged.

  “She’s the mother of a king, the queen of Geatland, the leader of the Scylfings, and the mistress of five large estates with extensive property.”

  Sweyn’s heart started pounding as if he were a lovesick teenager awkwardly facing his sweetheart.

  “Is she single?”

  Asta nodded somberly.

  “Totally alone. Her son, Olaf, went to Svealand to become their king, and her daughter, Estrid, is a prisoner of the Anund clan. They kidnapped Sigrid’s daughter when the Svea came to the estate. King Erik promised to go bring Estrid back, but he didn’t look for very long before he ran off to fight a war against you.”

  Chilly insanity glittered in Asta’s eyes as she drank the wine.

  “King Erik was out of his mind with rage that you had come ashore in Jómsborg, so it was easy to get him to drink the poison. What is harder for me to bear is that Axel, the leader of Erik’s hird, forced my mistress’s brother to drink the rest of the poisoned wine that killed Erik. But they never touched Olaf, and that was all that mattered, because he was chosen by the gods to rule the North.”

  Asta shrugged as if none of it mattered.

  Sweyn exhaled.

  Sigrid was still his if she would still have him. Maybe she’d had multiple reasons for rejecting his proposal. Maybe she was enjoying having some other man by her side. Sweyn cleared his throat. He couldn’t even think about that.

  “Which of my men do you choose for a husband, Asta?”

  Sweyn intended to keep his promise.

  “The big redheaded one,” she said without hesitation.

  Sweyn looked in amusement at Ax-Wolf, whose eyes were wide with astonishment, his mouth still hanging open. The old warrior had never had a wife, and the thought of having the beautiful Asta seemed to frighten him more than anything else.

  “An excellent choice.” Sweyn grinned and put his hand on Ax-Wolf’s shoulder. The warrior’s cheeks flushed red beneath his beard, and he couldn’t get out a word. “My brother-in-arms raised me to be a man, and he is one of the people I’m closest to.”

  “I know. That’s why I picked him,” she said, then sauntered over to Ax-Wolf and kissed him on the lips.

  “I have no idea what having a wife requires,” he mumbled, panicked.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll housebreak you,” she said unconcernedly, and took his arm and led him out of the room.

  Estrid stood in the doorway of the house and looked up at the mountain, where a dim wandering light flickered like a heartbeat
in the night. It had to be now, their escape from the valley of the shadow of death, Hel’s toughest test. Her fingers trembled as she brushed a lock of hair out of her face.

  The leaders of the Anund clan sat on stumps around the fire in the front yard. Women and men weighted down with seriousness spoke in fateful voices about defending the valley.

  “We need to leave immediately,” said an older man whose flicker-lit face was covered in sores.

  “There’s nowhere for us to run to,” Agnatyr said, looking around at those who had assembled for the Thing. “King Håkon was driven from the throne, and the new king of Rogaland is Christian and has declared us outlaws. So the road to the west is closed. With the Scylfings in the east and north, the only way to escape is south, but to what? We need to stay and fight.”

  Several people agreed, but many were growing agitated.

  “They squirm with fear about their destiny,” Katla said, stroking Estrid’s cheek reassuringly. “Do you?”

  Estrid shook her head, wondering who the new king of Rogaland was. What happened to Håkon Sigurdsson? Had he been murdered like all the others? She looked at the dead, who had gathered several rows deep around the Anund clan as they held their Thing. The dead were pale shadows from the afterworld, scarcely visible in the darkness of the new-moon night. Estrid jumped when a black cat rubbed against her leg and then padded into the house. She couldn’t wait any longer. They had to leave now.

  Her heart pounded with conviction as she snuck into the house and took the rusty old spear down from the wall. It was heavy, but the wooden shaft sat firm and secure in her hand.

  “They’re going to come after us with the dogs,” Vidya whispered, timidly squeezing the bundle she held in her hand.

  “Everything will be fine. I swear it,” Estrid lied. She smiled sadly, glancing one last time at the accursed seeress’s house before she walked out into the farmyard.

  The dead turned to her with expressionless faces. They were women, children, and men, so many that they filled the whole farmyard, and now Estrid heard their faint whispers.

  Escape, escape, escape . . .