Chapter Fifty

Enid could still feel her cheeks burning. She could still feel his fingers as they traced her palm and smoothed her skin as she shook her head, trying not to listen to them laughing and feasting on the other side of that wall and taking another sip of broth, but then she heard Freya slink into the room, throwing herself down on the bed and sighing.

"Aren't you hungry?" Enid asked.

"No…" she sighed again. "Erik… He's so handsome," she said, and Enid turned to look at her then, her eyes big and wide, her heart racing in her throat.

"Really?" she asked. "I hadn't notice."

"Of course, he is," Freya turned, resting her head in the palm of her hand, her cheeks then pink and shining. "But it doesn't matter," she sighed, her eyes flicking to stare at the furs under her. "He's going to be married soon… He's Princess Gro's son."

"Not Knut's?"

"No," Freya shook her head. "But he's going to marry Knut's daughter. They both have children from before… Do you think he's more handsome than Ivar?"

Enid felt the colour drain from her face then, her stomach twisting and turning though she couldn't say why.

"What kind of question is that, Freya?" she shook her head.

"It's just a question," Freya snapped, and then she sank to her back, sighing and throwing her arms out around her as she stared at the ceiling. "Ivar thinks you like him," she whispered.

"What?"

"He thinks you like him," she said again. "He probably wouldn't say anything if you went to see him tonight."

"Freya!" Enid gasped.

"What?" Freya snapped. "There's nothing really stopping you," she mumbled, and Enid watched her then, her heart slowing down, her anger dimming and calming as she sighed, climbing into bed beside Freya and brushing the hair from her face.

"I don't like Erik," she whispered, and Freya flicked her eyes to her, studying Enid, her forehead lining in a slight crease.

"But you could," she said.

"But I don't."

"But don't you think he's handsome?"

Enid thought on it then, trying so hard to come to an answer she liked, but she could only sigh, falling on her back to stare at the ceiling just like Freya.

"I do," she whispered.

"I think he likes you," Freya whispered too.

"What does it matter? He's getting married, right?"

"He's not married yet," Freya shrugged. "And it probably won't matter after. He's still a free man… I think Ivar likes you too, Enid."

"What?!" Enid said, sitting up to stare at Freya, but for a moment longer the girl said nothing else, her eyes peeled on Enid's face, never blinking, never moving.

"Don't you like him?" she asked, and suddenly Enid's cheeks were on fire and she couldn't breathe, her mind racing ahead of her.

"I..." she stammered.

"I think you do," Freya whispered. "And I think he likes you too."

"He loves your mother," Enid said.

"I think he loves you both. I know Ivar, Enid… I remember what he was like with my mother… He looks at you the same way. He looked at you the same way when he saw you with Erik. You should ask him to free you."

Enid shook her head, her heart hammering in her chest, her head light and spinning. "You're wrong, Freya," she said. "He doesn't love me. I already asked him to free me and he said no."

Freya laughed then, a short, curt laugh that took Enid by surprise. "He loves you."

"That doesn't make any sense, Freya."

"It makes perfect sense," Freya said, suddenly sitting up and poking Enid's forehead. "Think about it. What would you do if he freed you?" she asked, and Enid stared at the girl, her eyes big and wide, her chest heaving.

"I'd go home," she whispered, and Freya nodded, throwing herself back down on the bed and clenching her fists.

"Especially if your blacksmith is still alive."

"I…" Enid stammered.

She couldn't do it, she couldn't accept everything Freya had told her, she couldn't, but some part of her already had, a part of her seemed to come alive, humming and shaking as a smile sprang to her lips. She turned then, wanting to ask Freya more, wanting to shake her head and to cry and laugh all at once, but then she heard the sound of boots approaching. He stood there, his arms folded across his chest, those sky-blue eyes staring at them from the doorway and suddenly Enid couldn't breathe and she wanted to run and hide and race to him all at once.

"You didn't eat your food, Freya," he said, and Freya lifted her head, studying him for a moment before she laid back down and sighed.

"I'm not hungry," she said, and for a moment Enid thought that would be it, that Ivar would turn around and leave them, but he sighed, stepping into the room and sitting on the bed beside Freya.

He was so close now, so close Enid would only have to reach out and touch him, but all she could do was breathe, her chest heaving, her eyes big and wide as she stared at him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, brushing the hair from Freya's face. "Gro was right, I should've thought about your weaving."

Freya shrugged, catching his fingers in her hand and squeezing them. "I'm a fast learner," she said. "And I want to fight more than I want to weave."

Enid saw it then, that smile she hadn't seen for a while, heard that laugh that rumbled in his chest and she had to look away to hide her face from the both of them so they wouldn't see how her cheeks were burning, but then she felt him grow stiff, felt the bed beneath them jerk a little as he sat up straighter.

"Stay away from Erik," he said, and Enid turned, her mouth open ready to defend herself, but then she saw he was looking at Freya.

"I don't care about Erik," Freya huffed, folding her arms across her chest and sticking out her chin. "And besides, you should be saying that to Enid, not me."

Enid felt them then, those eyes that flicked to her face, felt the earth shift out from under her.

"Enid can do what she wants," he said, turning to stare at the floor.

Enid saw that small smile curling at Freya's lips, saw how she tilted her head to the side as she watched her father, and then she stood, not saying a word as she left the room, not even turning to answer when Ivar asked her where she was going, and Enid felt her heart race, the palms of her hands growing sticky as she fiddled with her dress.

Why did she care? After all he'd done to her, after all that he'd said, why did she still find herself fighting a smile at the thought of him loving her? Ivar cleared his throat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and not looking at her.

"Erik did ask about you," he said. "I won't stop you, if you want to go to him, Enid."

"Do you want me to, Ivar?" she asked, and he turned to her, those eyes suddenly soft, suddenly shining brighter than she had ever seen them before. His lips parted, something almost like a wince, almost like a frown knitting his eyebrows together.

"I didn't mean any offense by it," said a voice.