Chapter Twenty-one

"He's not back yet?" Enid asked a long while later.

"He probably won't come back tonight," Tyr said. "But don't worry, he won't be far away."

Some part of Enid was glad to hear that, some part of her was chilled at the thought of him coming back at all.

"Here," Freya said, holding out a cup for Enid to take and Enid slowly reached for it, the sight of that cup alone warming her so much more than the fire in front of them.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm sorry, Freya. I never-,"

"I know," Freya cut in. "I see that now."

"My mother died three, no, I guess it's four years ago now," Enid said. "My father didn't take a new wife, but I know it would have been hard for me if he had… Anyway, it's not like I'm Ivar's wife," she sighed. "I know I'm just your slave, but I do love you all and I want to help you. I'm not a mother. I don't know what it means to be one, but I'll do what I can for you. You should never doubt that."

"What about when you're free?" Freya asked, and for a long while Enid couldn't answer her, for a long while she wasn't sure if she should lie and keep the promise Tyr had made her a secret, but Freya was talking with her. She wasn't glaring or snapping at her, she wasn't cold and sharp. It was seeing her like this, seeing her warm and soft but still strong, still sure of who she was and what her place was in the world that lifted Enid's chest.

"I want to go home," Enid said, and Freya studied her a moment, that light in her eyes never changing as the flames flickered across her face and then she sighed.

"I understand why you would want that," she said. "But it would be a mistake. You'd be better off making a life for yourself here and… it would be good for Frigga if you were still close."

"I have a life back home," Enid said. "A good life. I was about to get married to a good man."

"How do you even know he's alive?" Freya asked. "And what makes you think he still wants you? You've been here for months and the earliest you'll be able to go back will be on the raids next summer so you'll be gone for over a year. What if he thinks you're dead and married someone else?"

"Cormac wouldn't…" Enid started to say, but soon she had no voice.

She didn't know that, she couldn't. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been fighting three warriors all on his own and now she knew them better, now she knew of their beliefs, she knew of their gods and how they wanted to join them in Valhalla. What if Cormac had died that day?

No, surely she would have felt it. Surely something would have changed and told her that that part of her life was over, but what if it hadn't? What if he believed that Ivar and all those other men back on the boat had had their way with her? Would he even believe her if she told him that her virtue was still intact? No, he wouldn't, how could he? She would have been gone a whole year, living and surviving amongst these Pagans as their property. No one would ever look at her the same way again.

"I-," she stammered.

"Why would you want to go back, Enid?" Freya asked. "I've heard your stories. The only thing you could be back home is a wife, but when you're free you could be something here. You could own your own land. You could fight in the shield wall or farm if you want to."

"But I'm not free, Freya! Stop teasing me and saying all these things! I'm nothing here. I'm no one. I'm not even human."

"Ivar will let you go if we ask him," Freya said. "If we both asked him," she nodded to Tyr. "But you can't go until the summer and I won't ask if we haven't found someone else to look after Frigga. I don't want to be a wife, Enid. I want to fight in the shield wall and be a shieldmaiden like my Aunt Hilda. I can't go back to looking after Frigga and cooking all the time… Think about everything I've told you. You're smart and you're brave. You should be more than just a slave, but you deserve to be more than just a wife too."

Enid was still thinking on those words when the door slammed shut as they sat there for breakfast the next morning, the sound startling them and making them all turn around to stare at him standing by the door. His shoulders were raised, his hands clenched into tight fists as he glared at the floor in front of him and without a word he strode over to the table, throwing himself down on the bench, his face scrunched up in a terrible scowl.

No one spoke and for a moment Enid didn't know if she could stop herself from screaming at him, but then Freya asked, "Sleep well, Ivar?"

Ivar grunted, his eyes flicking to study her, that scowl on his face deepening and Enid found herself inching towards Freya, her eyes fixed on him, her fingers ready to tear the girl away, but then Freya slid her bowl of porridge over to him, tilting her head to the side and smiling as she did. Ivar sighed, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her to his chest, softly kissing the top of her head, that light in his eyes then so warm.

"I've been thinking," he said. "Tyr will come with me to raid Jarl Sigurd's farms and Freya will stay here to protect Frigga."

"But-!" Freya started.

"No," Ivar shook his head. "Tyr will get his armring soon and he'll go on raids before you, Freya. You need time to get stronger, you know that, and we can't leave the farm defenseless. What if Jarl Sigurd knows we're coming and attacks while I'm away?"

Enid watched them, a chill running down her spine, a heaviness pinning down her chest. "No," she said. "They're just children, Ivar. They can't-,"

"They won't be for much longer," Ivar cut in. "It's about time you stopped treating them like that too. Unless you want to fight."

Enid stared at him, her face going slack and pale, her hands clenching into fists on her lap. "I can't fight," she whispered.

"So Freya stays."

"I can't fight," Enid said, this time a little louder. "But you can't take them either, Ivar. Teach me to fight and I'll protect them."

The room went quiet as Ivar studied her, his head tilting to the side, his eyes unblinking. As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted them, desperately wanting to take them back, her memories of those blood-splattered men back on the boat so vivid, but that was why she couldn't let the children fight them. What chance would they have against those giants? And how would she live with herself if something happened to them?

"No," Ivar sighed. "There's no time and even if there was, you wouldn't be as good as Freya."

"How can you say that? They're just children, they're your children, Ivar. How can you put them in danger?"

"This moment would come whether I tried to stop it or not, Enid," Ivar said.

"Because that's how you raised them."

"Because that is our way!" Ivar snapped. "Enough, I've made my decision and that's how we're going to do it."

For a long while no one spoke, for a long while there was nothing but a terrible tension in the air between them, but then Freya took her bowl back, stabbing at her porridge and saying, "I'm not that weak, Ivar."

Ivar stared at her, the light in his eyes a mixture of something that was bright and warm, but something that was also sad. "No, you're not, Freya, but I also won't send you to Valhalla at the first chance I get either. It won't be long… for either of you, but you have to trust me to tell you when you're ready."