《Yrsa》


 Introduction

    It was dawn when the sound of hooves pounding on the packed earth of the road disturbed the sweet chorus of birds. I was sitting outside with Sif, side-by-side on an old fir stump. We were gazing out over the bubbling river and crashing waterfall, taking a moment for ourselves before getting back to the task at hand. Our legs were stretched before us, our hands supporting our weight on the back of the stump.


    Riverfell Hall didn¡¯t receive many visitors, and we hadn¡¯t been expecting the swordmaster. Nevertheless, the house was too out of the way for weary travellers. Whoever was travelling to Riverfell Hall was doing so with a purpose.


    After exchanging a glance, we jumped up from the stump and waited by the road to greet the rider, patting down our skirts and adjusting our caps. We were only servants here but no one else was awake to receive them.


    The rider came into view, cantering up the road from the riverside. They were dressed in a heavy fur cloak, with their face hidden by a steel helmet with a leather mask underneath. Sif took a sharp intake of breath, then rushed for the house. I thought at first that she might be afraid - but then the rider reached up and pushed off their helmet.


    *


    I had only worked for the family at Riverfell Hall for a few months. As such, I had only met the lord of the manor and his son, Torsten, who had not yet reached his sixteenth year. I didn¡¯t learn about his mother until my second month of service. I hadn¡¯t asked; it wasn¡¯t my place. Yet Torsten saw fit to tell me one day while we had one of our little talks over the cooking pot. His father, Birger, was not the person who afforded their isolated luxury. It was his mother, the famous shieldmaiden, Yrsa. She was the eldest daughter of the late Torsten the Great, and thane to her sister and his successor, Cecilie.


    I knew of her name and deeds, though I had never met her personally. I had heard songs in her honour and tales of her victories before I came to Riverfell Hall. I travelled, you see. Before settling here, I moved between villages and towns, picking up work at local inns wherever I could. Many were frequented by bards who sang of her valiance to a room full of stone-faced mead drinkers. I confess I never paid much attention either. The work was often taxing. I seemed to have a knack for ending up with manipulative employers - the type that made it seem like they were doing me a favour by providing me with a cold, damp, rat-infested cellar to sleep in and endless days of gruelling work where visitors were allowed to put hands where they shouldn¡¯t. I supposed they kept me safe from slavers, but the pay was next to nothing. As you can imagine, I grew tired of that life. So when I overheard a drunkard slur out the news of a maid position here, I left without thinking.


    *


    Now when she first removed her helmet, it took me a moment to realise that it was, indeed, a woman atop the heavyset horse. Her jaw was square, her skin dirty from riding and dark from the sun, and her nose was sharp and proud. Her unwashed red hair was pulled away from her set brow in braids, and her steely grey eyes were hard and determined. Never had I seen a woman with such strength. Her eyes fell on me as she stopped her horse, and I swallowed.


    It was her voice that gave her away, deep and gruff as it was.


    ¡®I can¡¯t say I¡¯ve seen you before.¡¯


    I took note of the sheathed sword hanging from her belt and answered above the beating of my heart. ¡®I am the new maid.¡¯


    Her horse shifted beneath her, but her gaze didn¡¯t break. ¡®I see. Your name?¡¯


    ¡®Helly, my lady.¡¯ Then quickly added, ¡®Helleborus is my full name.¡¯This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    ¡®Helleborus¡­¡¯ she repeated. ¡®That¡¯s an unusual name.¡¯


    I realised I should be serving her. Abruptly, I said, ¡®Allow me to take your horse-¡¯


    ¡®No,¡¯ she interrupted, with a breathy laugh. ¡®I¡¯ll see to her. You can accompany me and tell me what has happened over the last six months, if you like.¡¯


    ¡®Well, I can tell you about the last three months.¡¯


    She smiled as she tucked her helmet under her arm and dismounted her horse, keeping a firm grip on the reins. She guided her horse through the paddock to the side of the house and towards the stable, where she began to remove the saddle. I kept my distance, standing attentively by the shelter, awaiting her questions. None were forthcoming.


    I turned back to gaze out over the road, towards the river. The birds were singing again, greeting the sun as it rose behind the grey clouds, turning them white like cotton. I loved to spend my mornings outside here, before the rest of the household stirred. It was the simple pleasure of watching the sunrise in all its colours that broke up the monotony of my days. Sometimes it would burn red over the mountains and trees. Others pink, like a flower. Most were like this. Grey, cold, and windy. The forest whispered secrets around the lonely hall.


    The sound of metal hitting the wooden floor made me jump. Now the horse was seen to, she was removing her armour. She laughed at my startled expression, and I found myself embarrassed. I whipped back around, keeping my stare forwards. She was decent, clothed in a basic tunic and leggings, but it seemed impolite to watch.


    I had begun to relax again, listening to the soothing sounds of the forest, when she said, ¡®You¡¯re not much of a talker, are you?¡¯


    I glanced back over my shoulder with raised eyebrows. ¡®I am your servant, my lady. I am bid to answer whatever questions you have.¡¯


    It was apparent she was amused from her lopsided smile. She was picking up her armour now, slinging her chainmail over her arm. ¡®All right. First of all, how is Torsten?¡¯


    It warmed my heart to know that he was first on her list. Torsten didn¡¯t vocalise it much, but it was clear that he missed her. His eyes said more than his mouth when he spoke of her over my simmering stew.


    I didn¡¯t feel it appropriate to say so, however. Instead, I said, ¡®He is well. When he¡¯s not studying, the master has his head in books.¡¯


    She nodded, stepping across the wooden slats to stand beside me. ¡®And he¡¯s been good for Glyrna?¡¯


    ¡®Yes. Well, as good as a rebellious young boy could be.¡¯


    She nodded and her eyes crinkled as her smile widened. ¡®That sounds about right.¡¯ She gazed out over the paddock. ¡®You¡¯ve had no bother at the house, I assume?¡¯


    ¡®No. We only ever receive messengers, bringing letters to the master.¡¯


    She hesitated before asking, ¡®And how is the master?¡¯


    ¡®Well.¡¯ I said, with a nod. ¡®But he frets.¡¯


    ¡®Of course he does.¡¯ She said, with a hint of disdain. I looked at her from the corner of my eyes. She wasn¡¯t smiling anymore. ¡®Is there any work for me around the house?¡¯


    I shook my head. ¡®Sif and I have been handling things.¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re good with your hands then?¡¯ She asked, with a new smile that was different. ¡®Are you married?¡¯


    The question took me by surprise, but I didn¡¯t suppose it was that unusual for an employer to ask about such personal matters, especially as they provided me with food and a bed. All the same, I looked at her inquisitively as I replied, ¡®no.¡¯


    She looked at me with that different smile, her eyes a clear silver in the morning light. There was something about those eyes, the way they¡­


    But before she could ask another question, we were interrupted. Torsten was awake, and outside, and hollering for his mother across the other side of the paddock. And as sure and true as an arrow, she sprinted for him, her arms outstretched.


    I flopped back against the wooden support, taking a shaky breath. I felt a little dizzy.

 Chapter One

    Despite the arrival of his beloved mother, Torsten still sat with me as I slathered the elk meat with crushed juniper berries and prepared the morning¡¯s harvest of vegetables from the garden. It was quiet in the kitchen. The crackling of the fire and my gentle footsteps on the cold stone floor were the only sounds to be heard. It was unusual for him to be so quiet; usually he had some farfetched tale to relay, imagined up from the sheer boredom of a featureless boyhood.


    As I brought the food to the fire and leant against the oak table to take a break, my eyes wandered to him. He was sitting on his wooden stool on the other side of the firepit, watching the flames with grey eyes that seemed beyond his years. He reminded me of his mother, then. His hair was the same dull red, like rust, and was now long enough to wear in braids. His father had tried to keep it short, hoping he would tread the scholarly path. It was clear to me now that Torsten took after his mother.


    I waited a while, studying his distance, before I finally spoke. ¡®Are you happy to see her?¡¯


    He jumped, shaken from his reverie. ¡®Sorry, what did you say?¡¯


    ¡®Are you happy to see your mother?¡¯ I dropped my eyes back to my cooking, pretending it was a throwaway question.


    ¡®I am,¡¯ he said, though the way he said the words implied there would be a ¡°but¡±.


    I¡¯d only been with the family for three months, but I knew him better than that. ¡®You must have missed her.¡¯ I said, airily.


    ¡®Yes, I did.¡¯ He answered, his tone defeated.


    I quietly padded around the table, to resume my work of sorting the herbs. Sif had attempted to cook yesterday, and the kitchen had certainly suffered for it. Pots and pans were in disarray, and the ingredients had reorganised into disorganisation. It was, in the words of Sif, an unnecessary job that no one had asked me to do, but I simply couldn¡¯t leave it. Meanwhile, Sif was off to town, sent out on an errand to pick up the finest mead to celebrate the lady¡¯s arrival.


    The lady herself had made herself scarce. She¡¯d spent a little time with Torsten, answering his excited questions about her trip. Though her husband greeted her with lukewarm affection, he was quick to comment on her bedraggled appearance. I felt taken aback on her behalf, but she merely nodded and dismissed herself to bathe in the river. She didn¡¯t say a word to him.


    ¡®She¡¯ll be gone again soon.¡¯ Torsten said. ¡®And I¡¯ll miss her all the more.¡¯


    I glanced back over my shoulder at him. ¡®Does she not plan to stay long?¡¯


    He shook his head. ¡®She never does.¡¯ He was still looking at the flames, and his cheek twitched where he clenched his teeth.


    I turned away from him and continued my work, keeping my hands busy as I said, ¡®I can tell your mother has missed you.¡¯ He seemed to snort. ¡®You know how I know that? The very first thing she asked me when she arrived was how you were.¡¯


    I plucked some of the dried herbs from overhead and added them to my freshly made piles, listening to the sound of his silence. I knew he was still glowering at the fire, in two minds about his mother¡¯s arrival.


    ¡®It may seem like a small, insignificant thing, my lord,¡¯ I said, comfortingly, ¡®but she wouldn¡¯t ask if she didn¡¯t care.¡¯


    He nodded and rose to his feet. He¡¯d grown since I arrived. He was taller than me; perhaps as tall as his mother. He was almost a man now. It wouldn¡¯t be long before he¡¯d start venturing out in armour, perhaps even at his mother¡¯s side. But he was still too young to see that. Too young, and too hurt. Perhaps by that time, he would have given up on her entirely. Hopefully there was still time for their bond to mend. After all, they clearly both loved each other.


    The same could not be said for the lord and lady. She didn¡¯t reappear to dine with her family that afternoon, and his disapproving huffs from the main hall were audible in the kitchen. In the end, I was sent out to look for her. At first, I thought she couldn¡¯t possibly have spent the entire day bathing, so I wasted time by searching the outhouses and stable first. When it was clear that she hadn¡¯t returned, I headed down to the riverside.


    She was still in the water when I got there, a fresh tunic and leggings laid out at my feet on the rocky bank. She hadn¡¯t noticed me; her attention was fixed on the waterfall. I followed her gaze. No, it wasn¡¯t the waterfall. A lone fox was foraging in the bushes, its copper fur dark and wet from the spray. I would never have noticed such a thing here, where the crashing of the water cloaked all other sounds, and the cold made bathing torturous.


    ¡®Come on in,¡¯ I heard her say above the noise, ¡®there¡¯s no need to be shy.¡¯


    I turned back to her. Her eyes, as striking as iron, were on my face. She wore nothing but a callous smile.


    ¡®I¡¯ve been sent to call you back to the hall, my lady.¡¯ I said, dropping my gaze to her clothes. ¡®They are expecting you for dinner.¡¯


    She made a discontented noise, then waded towards me. Her wet hair was pushed back from her clean face, and in the light of the late afternoon sun, I could see all the marks, all the indents in her skin. The knick above her right eyebrow; the fresh graze on her jaw; the sharp, pink cut on the side of her mouth that stretched over her lips. As she emerged from the water, I took in the scars on her body, too. Over her broad shoulders; over her sculpted stomach; even over her strong thighs and round breasts.


    ¡®You have fought a great many battles.¡¯ I said, quietly, without thinking. My knees were weak - was I afraid?


    Water droplets smacked on stone as she stood before me, her proud eyes on my face. I quickly looked to the floor, at her feet, where speckles of water stained the rock. At least they were unscathed by the ferocity of war.


    No. I wasn¡¯t afraid.


    ¡®I have.¡¯ She agreed, her tone pensive. Then she bent to pick up her clothes, and swiftly dressed. ¡®I assume they are waiting for me?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, my lady.¡¯ I said.


    ¡®You can cut out the ¡°my lady¡± crap.¡¯ She said, smiling up at me as she pulled on her leggings. ¡®You must have noticed I¡¯m not the noble or domesticated type.¡¯


    I kept my eyes trained on the ground. ¡®But you are my mistress.¡¯


    That breathy laugh. ¡®Yes, I suppose so.¡¯ Now fully clothed, her sword at her hip on her belt, she stretched to her full height and inclined her head towards the hall. ¡®Let¡¯s go.¡¯


    Without anything underneath her plain tunic, I could see that she was cold - so I averted my eyes from her chest and allowed her to take the lead, just as a good servant would. I followed two steps behind as she marched back towards her home, her wet hair soaking through the material on her back.


    ¡®Once my hair has dried,¡¯ she said over her shoulder, as though she read my mind, ¡®would you comb it?¡¯


    ¡®As you wish, my lady.¡¯ I answered.


    She stopped in her tracks, and I halted behind her. She looked back at me and the unscarred side of her mouth rose in an amused smile. ¡®Will you not walk by my side?¡¯


    I watched her inquisitively. ¡®I am your servant-¡¯


    ¡®Come, let me see you.¡¯ She waved her arm to encourage me forwards. I followed, hesitant and uncertain.


    ¡°Let me see you.¡± A servant did not need to be seen. Indeed, her husband had hardly glanced in my direction. I doubted he even knew the difference between Sif and I. Yet¡­ her grey eyes, silver in this light, saw me. I wonder how much they saw.


    ¡®That¡¯s better.¡¯ She said. ¡®A woman like yourself should never walk in someone¡¯s shadow.¡¯


    I was all too aware of my heartbeat, all of a sudden. I kept my eyes straight ahead, doing my best to appear unaffected. Inside, my mind raced with questions, confused by her comment. A woman like myself was a lowly maid. Nothing more.


    Inside, the great hall was gloomy. The warm-coloured wood walls were windowless here; all rooms branched off from the ground floor or the wooden balconies running along either side. The fire in the hearth roared at all hours, casting the waiting men at the long table in a yellow glow. She took her place on the bench beside her son, and observed my offering. She took a deep breath, and released a satisfied sigh.


    ¡®What a feast!¡¯ She proclaimed, helping herself to the food and ignoring her husband¡¯s glare.


    He turned to me, his lips turned downwards in displeasure. ¡®We are running low on firewood. See to it.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, my lord.¡¯


    I felt her eyes on me as I left the hall, closing the door behind me.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    *


    I was balled up on my bed in the corner of the kitchen when I spoke to her next. My limbs were aching from chopping firewood. After such a task, I could hardly lift a cup to my mouth. But I always did it, as I was bid. I was perhaps foolishly determined to run myself into the ground - or at least, that¡¯s what Sif would say.


    Sif had gone to the river to bathe, and I would normally join her. Not today, though. I couldn¡¯t think of anything worse after such an arduous task. A dip in a hot spring, yes, by all means. A dip in the icy cold river? No.


    So when the mistress came in, there was no one else but me in the shadowy kitchen. I watched her from my hidden place as she approached the fire, glancing around the room. She had seen me retire to the kitchen, so she knew I was here.


    ¡®Helly,¡¯ she said, softly. My poor tired heart beat loudly in my ears in answer.


    ¡®Yes, my lady.¡¯ I replied, unfolding from my position on the bed.


    She noticed. ¡®I¡¯m sorry. Were you sleeping?¡¯


    I shook my head. ¡®Just taking a moment to myself.¡¯


    She rounded the table to sit with me on the bed. It seemed that the kitchen was suddenly too small. Her wide shoulders and thick arms knocked against me as she made herself comfortable.


    ¡®My hair is dry now. Would you still comb it?¡¯ She looked at me from the corner of her eyes, made warm by the flames in the fire.


    I nodded and began to rise from the bed. She grabbed my wrist. Her hand was rough with calluses, and warm.


    ¡®I brought my comb.¡¯ She showed me what was in her other hand as I sunk back onto the furs. It was made from bone, like mine. She handed it to me, and I rose onto my knees, moving around the back of her. I started from the very top of her head, and took my time to work out any knots. My arms shook with the exertion, but she had asked so nicely¡­


    She noticed when I came round to her side, and immediately lifted her arm to lower mine. ¡®You¡¯re exhausted.¡¯ When I didn¡¯t say anything, she shook her head. ¡®I¡¯m not a slave driver. You can say no if you can¡¯t or don¡¯t want to do something.¡¯ I ignored her and kept at my work. She released a heavy sigh. ¡®What am I to do with you?¡¯


    My mind offered several things she could do with me, and it was then that I realised why my heart was beating so fast. Not fear, not nervousness, though that was a little part of it. No, it was¡­ something else.


    Once her hair was thoroughly tamed, I took a section at her brow and began braiding. She hadn¡¯t asked me to do it, but I wanted to. Despite the tiredness of my arms, I braided around her face, with a large plait in the middle, and let her hair tumble over her shoulders at the back. She sat patiently through it, her eyes closed and her head tilted back. It almost looked as though she was enjoying it.


    I finished before I wanted to. I ran my fingers through her hair one last time, slow and gentle, and felt the overwhelming urge to smell it. Instead, I let my hands drop to my side, and sat back against the wall, my face hot.


    She turned her head and looked over her shoulder at me, though it was hard to see her expression in this darkness. She didn¡¯t say anything for a long while, before she gave me a casual, ¡®thank you.¡¯


    I nodded. ¡®You¡¯re welcome, my lady.¡¯


    She hesitated for a moment. I couldn¡¯t tell for certain, but it looked as though she had something else to say to me. Her lips were slightly parted, ready for words to come out. She obviously thought better of it, and instead, rose to her feet.


    ¡®You may take the night off,¡¯ she said, as she headed towards the door. She hesitated before she went through to the main hall. ¡®Let me know if you need anything.¡¯


    She left before I could say thank you. Then, alone in the warmth of the kitchen, I flopped on my bed face-down.


    Until tomorrow then, my lady.


    *


    I went to the river to wash early the next morning. It was freezing cold, and my dully aching arms were beaded with white goosebumps, but I begrudgingly admitted that the water made me feel fresh and energised.


    It was so early that the birds were still singing their encouragement to the shy sun, which was only just rising. Today, the sky burned overhead, and the river glowed a deep orange. I gazed up at the blood red sky. I remembered mornings like these with my mother-


    ¡®You have black hair.¡¯


    I knew who had spoken without turning to look.


    ¡®Yes.¡¯ I replied.


    ¡®It¡¯s longer than mine.¡¯ I glanced at her then. She was sitting on the stony bank, watching me. I wondered how long she¡¯d been sitting there, and my cheeks started to warm.


    Although I was embarrassed to think she¡¯d been watching me for a while, I was also embarrassed because of last night. Not the hair brushing, though that could have been part of it, too. No, last night from the kitchen, Sif and I had been kept awake by sounds from the master bedroom, which was built partly over the kitchen, leaving room for a hole in the ceiling for smoke to escape. She had been silent, but the master¡­ Sif spent most of the night suppressing giggles while I suppressed a strange, queasy feeling.


    I turned my back to her, remembering those noises and suddenly unable to meet her gaze.


    ¡®Excuse me,¡¯ I said, ¡®if you wish to bathe, I will leave now.¡¯


    Even over the waterfall, I could hear her breathy laugh. ¡®No, no. I¡¯m just enjoying the view.¡¯ I whipped round to face her, but she was looking elsewhere, up at the mountains. Of course, she didn¡¯t mean me. I felt foolish for even thinking it. ¡®I come here most mornings to listen to the birds and gaze out on the river.¡¯


    ¡®It is beautiful here.¡¯ I conceded, lowering myself in the water to wet my hair again and push it back from my face. The water was chest height here, covering most of my private areas, but I still felt self-conscious.


    ¡®What brought you to Riverfell Hall?¡¯ She asked. Then shook her head and looked at the ground. ¡®Ignore me. You needed the work, I suppose.¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯ I replied. ¡®I was working at an inn nearby when I heard you were looking for a maid.¡¯


    ¡®What were you doing at the inn?¡¯


    ¡®Drink pouring. Cleaning. A bit of cooking. Whatever needed doing.¡¯ I said. ¡®I worked at a few different inns.¡¯


    ¡®And you lived with your family?¡¯


    I turned my face away as I replied. ¡®No.¡¯


    ¡®Are they no longer around?¡¯


    I debated about what to say, then settled on ¡®no.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry.¡¯ She said, genuinely. I didn¡¯t look at her. ¡®Then where did you stay?¡¯


    ¡®In whatever accommodation they provided. Outhouses, cellars¡­¡¯


    ¡®I can see why you would want to leave that work.¡¯ She reclined back on the stone, supporting her weight on her elbows as she watched me lift my hair over my shoulder. ¡®Are you from around these parts?¡¯


    I shook my head. ¡®I was brought up in the wilds. Near Norraskogen.¡¯


    I heard her sharp intake of breath. ¡®Norraskogen. You have travelled very far.¡¯


    I turned and smiled at her, to hide the seriousness behind my statement. ¡®I had to.¡¯


    She assessed me with curious eyes, and I turned away again, bringing water to my face to rinse off any remaining herbs. Sif thought I was strange for bringing lavender and chamomile with me to bathe. The lady probably would probably think the same.


    There was a long moment of silence before she asked, ¡®did you know this is my house? When you came for the job.¡¯


    ¡®No.¡¯ I said. ¡®In truth, I thought the master was a widower.¡¯


    ¡®Have they treated you well?¡¯ She asked.


    ¡®The master has treated me well enough.¡¯ I replied, politely.


    ¡®And Torsten?¡¯


    ¡®He is more a friend than a master.¡¯ I said, absently, noticing how my fingertips were starting to shrivel.


    It was time to get out. I turned back to the bank and hesitated. The lady¡¯s eyes were still on me. It had been a little nerve wracking to be naked in front of Sif at first, but not like this. This was different. My heart pounded as I began wading towards her. Her keen eye would see everything. She was observant, unlike Sif. She would see it.


    I saw her eyes brush over my body, and then linger, where I had hoped they wouldn¡¯t.


    ¡®What happened?¡¯ She asked, her grey eyes resting on the pink line on my lower belly.


    ¡®I cannot bear children.¡¯


    She hesitated before she asked, ¡®you were pregnant?¡¯


    ¡®No.¡¯ I shook my head and felt my throat close up around the word.


    Her eyes didn¡¯t leave me as I pulled on my undergarments and my dress. I wondered what she was thinking. Pity, perhaps. I¡¯d never told anyone because I didn¡¯t want to feel that shame.


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry,¡¯ she said, ¡®I have upset you. I never should have-¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s quite all right, my lady.¡¯ I said, without meeting her gaze.


    I straightened up from dressing and took a seat on one of the rocks, my cap balled up in my fist. I reached up to bundle my hair beneath it.


    ¡®Leave it,¡¯ she said, ¡®I wish to return the favour.¡¯


    I glanced at her questioningly. ¡®The favour?¡¯


    She picked up my comb, lying forgotten by her leg. She rose to her feet and approached me, waggling it at me. ¡®Perhaps I might braid your pretty hair.¡¯


    My face must have turned the same red as the sky. I hoped that it wasn¡¯t so obvious in the dim light, though she had still managed to see my scar. She stood behind me and gently pulled back any stray strands over my shoulders. My heart thrummed in my chest as her fingertips lightly brushed the sensitive skin of my neck. I was scared she might be able to feel it.


    She was delicate, and patient. My hair hadn¡¯t been cared for like this before. Once I¡¯d gotten over the initial nervousness, I let myself relax. My eyes drooped shut and I let out a satisfied hum without a second thought. I heard her breathy laugh, deeper and huskier than before, and a shiver ran up my spine.


    This woman¡­ What kind of shieldmaiden spent her time combing a servant¡¯s hair like this? As deftly fingered as a lutist, as gently as a weaver?


    She started to braid my hair. Not like hers, in a style fit for a warrior, but like a noble woman¡¯s. She took her time to place small braids into an elaborate style, though she left the majority of my wet hair free.


    The sun had risen by the time she was finished. I inspected my reflection in the water before we left. My hair had never looked so pretty. I reached up to stroke my fingers over her work. I felt the overwhelming urge to cry.


    ¡®Thank you,¡¯ I said, so quietly I doubted she would hear over the crashing of the waterfall.


    ¡®You are very welcome,¡¯ she said, stepping over to gently brush my hair back with her fingers.


    There was a heavy silence between us. Then I said, ¡®I must return to the house. The lord will need his breakfast-¡¯


    ¡®Are you to thank for last night¡¯s feast?¡¯ She asked, marching to meet my step as I started to head back.


    ¡®There is no need to thank me, my lady.¡¯ I said, abashed.


    ¡®Don¡¯t be so modest.¡¯ She smiled at me, her grey eyes crinkling at the sides. ¡®It was divine.¡¯


    I looked anywhere but at her. I settled for staring at the brown dirt of the track, and listened to the muffled thud of our boots on the packed earth. She needn¡¯t praise me like this. It was my job to provide food that she and the family would like. Whilst I was officially hired to ease the load off Sif, it was a secret understanding between the master and I that I should make up for her weaknesses - largely in the kitchen. I¡¯d seen her try to fry a fish. It wasn¡¯t pretty. If I didn¡¯t cook to their standards, I would have been thrown out by now and back in the dark, dank cellar of a roadside inn.


    As we converged onto the main road, I heard dull thumps ahead. I lifted my eyes to the hall, now visible through the trees. Torsten was up early, practising his swordplay with a broom handle and a straw-stuffed sack, which had been made into a practise dummy. Perfecting his technique to impress his mother, no doubt.


    She laughed and took wide strides forward to greet him. ¡®You have learnt well, my son.¡¯


    He clearly hadn¡¯t heard our approach - he jumped and spun on the spot, knocking into the dummy. His cheeks glowed crimson as his mother¡¯s hand came down upon his shoulder. Seeing them stand eye-to-eye like that, I was struck again by how similar they looked. Yet Torsten had some wars to win and some bulking to do before he could match her battleworn hardness.


    I made to walk past them, unnoticed, dropping my gaze again. But the young master made a noise that sounded something between a gasp and a cry, and I hesitated, looking up in alarm. He was staring at me as he proclaimed, ¡®Helly, your hair, it¡¯s¡­¡¯


    His mother stepped back to stand beside him, her proud eyes returning to me. ¡®Beautiful, isn¡¯t she?¡¯


    My face burned. ¡®Excuse me.¡¯ I muttered, and rushed into the hall. Sif glanced up from her sweeping, startled, as I ran into the kitchen and slammed the door behind me.


    In the safety of the warm, familiar room, I released a loud, long breath and sunk onto the floor.


    I felt lightheaded.

 Chapter Two

    The master rose soon after I¡¯d recovered from my embarrassment, so I prepared a quick and easy meal with fruit from the orchard and leftover vegetables from last night¡¯s meal. He didn¡¯t say a word when Sif and I delivered it to the table, which was his way. He stuck to the traditional master and servant boundaries, and so we were beneath his notice. The mistress joined him for breakfast, with Torsten at her side. I didn¡¯t look in her direction, but I could feel her gaze as I set the master¡¯s plate before him. She had undoubtedly noticed the return of my yellowing cap, the very same that Sif wore.


    We dropped our heads and skulked back to the kitchen, as was the custom here at Riverfell Hall, closing the door softly behind us. Sif usually got a great kick out of putting force into it to irritate the master, but she daren¡¯t step a toe out of line while the mistress was here. I doubted she was half as precious about keeping the hall as silent as a grave as her humourless husband. It was probably best not to test it, though.


    As I cleaned up after myself, Sif flopped on her bed, face-down. She groaned and rolled over to stare up at the ceiling. I glanced over my shoulder at her, curious. What had elicited such a reaction? She caught my eye and sighed, frustrated.


    ¡®The mistress came to speak to me when I was tending to the horse.¡¯ She said, her voice flat. ¡®She wants me to go into town for a while. To keep my ear to the ground.¡¯


    I turned back to my cleaning. ¡®Shouldn¡¯t you be happy? You¡¯ll have more time with your family.¡¯


    ¡®Not really. I¡¯d like to see Freya and Einar, but that husband of mine¡­¡¯ she cringed.


    ¡®You should get a divorce.¡¯ I suggested, not for the first time.


    ¡®And leave the children parentless for longer than they already are?¡¯ She shook her head against the furs piled on her bed. ¡®I am lucky to have a husband that works hard, at least. But being a trader, he has to travel. And, well, we rarely see the money he makes.¡¯


    Finished with the cleaning, I sunk into my bed. It was across the opposite side of the room from hers, and tucked away beside the pantry. Although Sif had unabashedly complained to the master about not having proper servants quarters, I liked being in the kitchen. It was fragrant and, perhaps most importantly, heated.


    ¡®It will only be a few days.¡¯ I said.


    ¡®It could be. I don¡¯t really know how long it will be. The mistress asked me to ask around for some information. About what, I don¡¯t really know myself. Seems she¡¯s chasing myths.¡¯


    ¡®Dragons and draugr?¡¯ I smiled.


    ¡®Something like that.¡¯ She grinned. ¡®Let¡¯s talk no more of such depressing things. Though I would like to address the matter of the mistress¡¯s apparent favouritism.¡¯ It was now my turn to flop back and stare at the ceiling. ¡®Well, you can¡¯t expect me to take this lying down. She sends me away for an indeterminate amount of time and then frolics off to plait your hair. What did you do?¡¯


    I laughed, but it came out sounding awkward. I didn¡¯t know myself, and it made me nervous. Eventually I answered, ¡®she did say she liked my cooking.¡¯


    ¡®Pah. Food. I have no chance.¡¯ She dismissed the conversation then, and got to her feet. ¡®I suppose we should make ourselves look busy. Have you got everything for their meals?¡¯


    I sat up and nodded. ¡®We have to sort the clothes though. I can mend any holes if you want to wash them?¡¯ Although she grumbled, she agreed to this plan. She wasn¡¯t much good at sewing, either.


    *


    I sat on one of the stumps outside the hall, one of Torsten¡¯s trousers on my lap, torn from his training with Glyrna. I didn¡¯t mind sewing. It wasn¡¯t as enjoyable as cooking, but it kept my hands busy and allowed me some time to myself, outside in the fresh air. It was the simple pleasures here, where I couldn¡¯t just take a trip into town or spend my time like Torsten, reading tomes or playing at knight.


    My fingers were numb from the cold, but that didn¡¯t matter. I was well-practised in my work. Sif had often commented on my speed and precision, and didn¡¯t believe me when I said it was just a matter of practise. She hated anything she had to spend time learning. That was Sif, impatient and restless.


    I took a break before moving onto the next item. It was not Torsten¡¯s - it was a tunic I didn¡¯t recognise. It must be the mistress¡¯s. I held it for a long time in my hands, staring down at the worn fabric and running my fingers over the soft sleeves. In places, the cotton material was threadbare. It had been torn. At first, I feared it was from a knife wound. But as I inspected it and discovered the weakened threads around it, I realised it was only its age. I felt a strange sense of relief.


    There was also a strange part of me that wanted to smell it. My eyes widened at the thought and I froze, fingers stiff. What had come over me?


    I ignored the compulsion. Though I wanted nothing more than to bury my face in the unwashed fabric, I stubbornly picked up my needle and thread and set to work. I kept my attention on my stitching, humming absentmindedly over the clanging of blunt training swords and her distant voice from the paddock.


    She was teaching Torsten. He was like a puppy when it came to his mother. Unconsolably sad and dejected without her attention, boundlessly excited when he got it. I supposed that was normal for a boy whose mother was loving and encouraging. He missed her.


    Meanwhile, the master was in his library, reading hefty old books that gave him no practical knowledge. I¡¯d peeked into the pages of these books and confirmed these suspicions for myself. Though no one else in the house knew I could read, I¡¯d taken a good look when I was in there cleaning. He was truly a scholar, and a wealthy one at that, for no one without money could afford to spend their days staring at such senseless drivel. Some of the better tomes, filled with alchemical knowledge and historical learnings, were covered in a powdery sheet of dust.


    Perhaps if I had been raised here, and experienced a calm and sheltered childhood, I would have discovered meaning in their frail pages. The master was simply cut from a different cloth. As was everyone, I¡¯d found. No one had an upbringing quite like mine.


    ¡®Here,¡¯ a heavy weight was gently lowered on my shoulders, ¡®you must be cold.¡¯


    My humming ceased and I glanced up from my sewing. I hadn¡¯t noticed that the clashing had stopped. She had placed a thick, fur cloak around me - her own cloak, that was radiating her heat. She was smiling. But she looked¡­ almost sheepish. Almost. She was an intimidating woman, more of a bear than livestock, so it was hard to tell.


    I reached up to take off her cloak, then thought better of it and pulled it closer. ¡®Thank you, my lady,¡¯ I said, softly.


    Her smile was warmer. She lowered herself into a kneel beside me and watched as I hesitantly continued my work.


    ¡®I heard you humming.¡¯ She said, her voice gentle. ¡®I didn¡¯t recognise the tune.¡¯


    I quietly continued stitching, starting to smile to myself. She watched my face, her eyes as sharp as a wolf¡¯s.


    ¡®Do you sing?¡¯


    ¡®I wouldn¡¯t know any of the songs you know.¡¯ I replied, keeping my answer vague.


    ¡®I¡¯m sure you do.¡¯ She said, her smile widening. When I didn¡¯t say anything, she added, ¡®you must know songs from the inns. I have travelled far, so I¡¯ll likely know some of them.¡¯


    I shook my head once. ¡®No, I didn¡¯t learn any songs from the inns.¡¯ I said.


    ¡®Where did you learn them?¡¯


    I didn¡¯t reply.


    She laughed. ¡®All right, all right. Would you sing one?¡¯


    ¡®You wouldn¡¯t be able to understand it, my lady.¡¯ I realised how rude that may have sounded, so I quickly added, ¡®I mean to say, it¡¯s not in our native tongue.¡¯


    Despite her scars and fine lines, her amazement was childlike. ¡®I would like to hear it.¡¯


    I felt a nervous stirring in my gut, but I put down my sewing and stood, tucking my red hands into the confines of the cloak. She stayed crouching by the stump, one knee supporting her weight, watching my back as I took a few steps away. It felt too personal. I couldn¡¯t be near her, neither could I look at her.


    I looked out at the forest and the mountains beyond as I took a deep breath and released a shaky first note. I took another deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment, and continued. She stayed quiet, listening attentively. But she didn¡¯t stay still. She rose to her feet and stood beside me. I fought with my instinct to shy away.


    Her eyes were on my face. Her silent breath was audible. Her body was close to mine.


    Yet I sang. Strange words that were all too familiar. Unpleasantly so. They reminded me of desolate winters, wet knives and glowing amber eyes. Yet her rapt gaze, so wonder-filled and unbreaking, made me feel anew. What was it about her that made me feel so young, filled with nervous energy and keen to please? Was it her eyes, that seemed to be on me always, whenever I crossed through the hall, whenever I left the hall, even now, as I sang for her the sweetest melody that I knew, despite the poison that tainted it? Was it her face, that was hard to look at and yet hard not to, with its strong jaw, strong cheekbones and strong brow, its lines and grazes that told me she was even stronger still, with its tan as brown as cinnamon and as uneven over her body as though she¡¯d rolled in it? Was it the pale skin on her forearms, that peeked out below her sleeves whenever she raised her arms and hid shyly away whenever they were lowered, a precious secret that could only be seen by those she deemed worthy or trusted implicitly?


    Her husband, then. My thoughts raced with my heart until I remembered the master in his fine, well-kept clothes and with his head bent over an ancient book, reading words that would give him no true fulfillment. The man who treated her with passive aggression and seemed a selfish lover, loud just to cover for his inability to please her. Who treated anyone else as he might treat a stray mutt, with revulsion and impatience. Who had a weak jaw that trembled at the first sign of impertinence, with small, beady eyes that squinted at noises above a murmur, and hair that was only blonde from the very specific soap he liked to have delivered to the hall.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    How I wished I¡¯d taken in the scent of her tunic, just so I could feel that I knew her. To know what she smelt like, to know that I¡¯ll never be close enough to her to take it from the heat of her throat or the softness of her chest. To know what her sweat smelt like, what it perhaps even tasted like¡­ in that moment, I could think of nothing I wanted more.


    The song came to an end. I made the last note longer, just to keep her silver gaze on my face. I wanted to bask in it forever, and yet I wanted to hide. Such contradicting feelings made my stomach curdle, and my voice trembled, even though I¡¯d recited these words more times than I cared to count. I wished I could erase all those other times, so that this memory would be the one I¡¯d settle into should I sing it again, years later.


    There was a moment of silence between us once the song had ended. She turned her face forwards, to look upon her land and see it, as a changed woman, perhaps, moved by lyrics she would never understand. Or perhaps she regretted asking me to sing, and searched for a way to dismiss herself without appearing rude and ungrateful. Not knowing made me anxious.


    Finally, she turned back to me. ¡®You have the most beautiful voice. More beautiful than a nightingale.¡¯


    Her earnestness caused my face to flush. I could feel it prickling over my cheeks.


    ¡®What language was that?¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t know, my lady,¡¯ then I smiled in jest, ¡®a magical one.¡¯


    ¡®It was a spell then?¡¯ Another of her lopsided smiles. She only saw my lips turn upwards, and not the hard edge to my eyes. ¡®What kind of spell, I wonder¡­¡¯ She met my gaze fully, then. I think she must have seen my guard, for her face transformed from amusement to bewilderment within the beat of a crow¡¯s wing.


    She didn¡¯t have time to ask me questions. Torsten had finished putting away the blunt practise swords, and now he was shedding his armour as he walked towards the entrance from the paddock. He saw us standing together, and invited himself to my side. He was smiling widely and his cheeks were speckled pink.


    ¡®Helly, is there anything to eat? I¡¯m starving.¡¯ He dropped his chainmail at his feet and held his stomach for emphasis.


    ¡®Of course, my lord,¡¯ I said, airily, ¡®I have bread and cheese in the pantry. I shall fetch some for you.¡¯


    He lay a heavy hand on my shoulder as he thanked me, a gesture that had never seemed so intrusive before. I made my leave, dropping my eyes from hers. I wanted her to follow me as I stepped towards the door. I wanted her to follow me into the pantry and close the door behind us, if only so that we can talk alone, in peace, though I yearned for more, so much more. A touch, her warm hand on my face, my neck, my collarbone, my breast, my stomach¡­ everywhere. This feeling¡­ it was new to me. I didn¡¯t know how to deal with it. So I simply went to the pantry, got out some bread and cheese, and delivered it to him. They were still standing outside, but they were talking, and I daren¡¯t interrupt. I was, after all, just a servant in her household. Not even a friend.


    I went back to my seat on the stump instead, and picked up my sewing where I left off. I listened to them talk. I wasn¡¯t eavesdropping, I simply wanted to hear the sound of her voice, of her laugh when Torsten reached out to lightly punch her arm, her light threat as he did it again, the two of us bathing in her happiness like I would sit in the sun, basking. Perhaps she sensed me listening, for her eyes fell on me a couple of times. I kept my eyes on the task at hand, not wanting to break the peace. Not wanting to go any further. And yet, wanting to go even further still. Even as Torsten warbled about his training and insisting she should demonstrate her skills against Glyrna, all I could think of were her tanned hands, and the rough, pale skin of her palms. I wondered what that would feel like, to have them touch my cheek or neck.


    I finished with her tunic and dropped it into my basket, reaching for another garment with my other hand. Task at hand, I reminded myself. Task at hand. It was another of Torsten¡¯s, and the longing that overwhelmed me seemed to ebb. I had no desire to touch his pungent trousers any longer than I needed to. It was the last of the damaged garments too, and then I would retreat into the kitchen to daydream as I chopped vegetables for lunch and dinner, whispering her words to myself: ¡®More beautiful than a nightingale.¡¯


    When I was finished, I dumped his trousers into the basket and stood up to head to the river, where Sif would still be washing the rest of the clothes. Both Torsten and his mother glanced up as I passed them by, and I heard the mistress start to say something. She was interrupted by her son though, with his mouth full of bread, ¡®what¡¯s for lunch today, Helly?¡¯


    I glanced up, adjusting my grip on the basket and hefting it higher. It wasn¡¯t heavy, just awkward, yet the lady stepped forwards and took it from me. She was close to me for a moment, her silver eyes on mine, as she eased it from my arms. ¡®Allow me.¡¯


    I wanted to protest, but I was breathless. And I certainly couldn¡¯t challenge the mistress of the house. It wasn¡¯t my place. Instead, I dropped my gaze and answered Torsten, hoping she wouldn¡¯t notice my trembling voice, ¡®we have salmon today, my lord.¡¯


    He grumbled something under his breath. Fish was generally a safe bet with the master, but Torsten despised it. I¡¯d told him I could cook for him separately during one of our conversations in the kitchen, but he shook his head. His father had instilled in him that fish was his mother¡¯s favourite dish, and Torsten wanted to be just like his mother. One look at the lady¡¯s face told me that she didn¡¯t think much of salmon either. I wondered how much the master of the house had lied to keep Torsten grounded. That was how the master controlled him so well, after all - the mistress was like a weapon, her name used to threaten or manipulate should he step a toe out of line. The one thing the lord couldn¡¯t get him to do was read with him in the library instead of devoting his time to swordplay.


    I laughed, startling the both of them, and said, ¡®I have some venison leftover. I can start cooking after I¡¯ve taken the laundry to Sif.¡¯ I stepped forward to take the basket back from the mistress, but she turned it away from me and started walking down the road. ¡®My lady, you don¡¯t need to-¡¯


    ¡®I want to.¡¯ She said, over her shoulder. ¡®Though you should come with me. I want to ask you some questions.¡¯


    I felt lightheaded, but I followed after her all the same. I barely knew her, and yet I felt I would follow her anywhere. I watched her back, her flowing red hair, as I scuttled after her, rushing to keep up. I wondered what her back would look like without the hindrance of her tunic. Would she have scars there too? Would the skin there be paler than her face? I had tried not to gape when I saw her in the river yesterday, but I wished I had, just to have seen her, to have known her that bit more.


    She had questions for me - and I had questions for her, too. I had so many questions, and all had the same answer. She would either turn to me and take me, or keep her back forever turned to me. At least then this uncertainty would end. Alas, I wasn¡¯t ready to ask yet. I didn¡¯t want to ask. She was married, and she was my mistress. And all that besides¡­ we were women.


    Even so, I still wondered whether this was what she wanted. Whether her hands running through my hair was more than kindness, but a selfish desire that was alight in her belly and alight in mine.


    Oh, how I wondered what her back would look like.


    She laughed suddenly, breaking the silence between us. ¡®Am I walking too fast?¡¯


    I hadn¡¯t quite imagined this question, so I answered after a moment of hesitation. ¡®N-no, my lady.¡¯


    ¡®Then come. Walk beside me,¡¯ she paused and waited, smiling in her lopsided way.


    I almost couldn¡¯t bear to walk beside her. I didn¡¯t feel I deserved to be so close to her. And yet, I wanted to be even closer. I felt dizzy with all these conflicting feelings that were all ultimately caused by the same reason. All the same, I stepped to her side, and we walked down the road together, as friends or lovers might. Imagining that I was either made my heart pound.


    ¡®You are hard to read, Helly.¡¯ She said, under her breath, though her smile was still upon her lips. I glanced into her face inquisitively, feeling my head cock to the side. ¡®You and Torsten seem very close. Do you have any designs on my son?''


    I rebuked, my eyebrows furrowed. This was definitely not one of the impassioned or tender questions I had imagined from her. She laughed at my reaction, and she sounded almost relieved. Was it because I wasn''t good enough for her son? Or was it perhaps that she wanted me for herself? I scolded myself. It was probably the former. How could I not see this coming? She had misread the comradery between Torsten and I and thought she had better get to know me as a daughter. I flushed angrily at the very notion.


    I scrambled to replace my expression with something neutral. ''I apologise, my lady. I mean no disrespect to the young master. I consider him a friend, that''s all. He is a fine young man, just¡­''


    ''He is not to your tastes.'' She provided, helpfully. When I nodded, she released a sigh, but I must have looked offended for her face transformed momentarily into one of panic. ''I am sorry, Helly, I did not mean-''


    ''I understand, my lady.'' I said, my voice coming out flatter than I anticipated. ''I am just a serving girl.''


    ''No, you misunderstand.'' She shook her head and raised her eyes to the sky, as though searching for the right words. None seemed to be forthcoming. She said nothing else, falling into silence after a defeated sigh.


    We ambled along the road together, and yet so very far apart. What was there to misunderstand? It was all clear to me now. I had misunderstood her intentions. Not in the way that she thought, but I had misunderstood the very basis of our strange, wonderful, blossoming relationship. She saw me as her son''s bride, not as a lover.


    I wondered what Torsten would make of all this. He''d probably make the very same face as I did.


    When we reached the river, Sif was startled to see the mistress at my side, carrying the basket. She rose to her feet as quick as an arrow shot, tripped over her words to greet her, and took the basket from her with an accusing glance in my direction. I said nothing. I had nothing to say. I felt that I would choke on my heart if I tried.


    I left Sif and the mistress on the river bank, failing to keep my head high as I marched back towards the road. I heard the mistress thank Sif and dismiss herself before the gentle crunch of her boots on the undergrowth. She was following me, and picking up pace, too.


    As soon as we were out of Sif''s eyeline, she reached out and held onto my wrist, sending a jolt right through to my heart. I stopped in my tracks, still turned towards the road, lightheaded and trembling.


    ''I have wounded you,'' she said, so gently it was as though she thought I would shatter, ''tell me what you''re thinking. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.'' When I did not speak, she continued, ''I would be overjoyed if you were a part of my family. If you do have feelings for Torsten-''


    ''You misunderstand.'' I interrupted, brazenly. My heart pounded in my throat and I found myself unable to say more.


    Her rough hand squeezed around my wrist. It was a comforting gesture, but I was too nervous to find it reassuring. This was all moving too fast. I didn''t want her to think that she had hurt me. I didn''t want her pity.


    ''What have I misunderstood?'' I heard her take another step, and felt my arm lower to my side, her warm hand still wrapped around the bare skin of my wrist. She was so close now. What was she doing?


    My breath seemed so loud, all of a sudden. I felt hers on the nape of my neck, hot and even. My eyes fluttered closed and I felt myself lean back, not quite touching her, but close enough to feel a tingling along my back. She need only reach out. She need only lean in. She need only give me a sign.


    But I broke away. I was embarrassed, in truth. Embarrassed that I had presented myself to her so openly, and had waited more than a few beats for her to touch me, with no such attempt forthcoming. Was she disgusted? Was she confused? Was she simply holding back for the sake of her family?


    Her family, yes, how selfish of me to have forgotten the master and their beloved son, who was not yet an adult, but a mere boy playing warlord. And to think, she had thought me interested in a boy of fifteen. I was almost a decade older, and unable to bear children. Perhaps that was why she was relieved. I hadn''t thought of that. But it certainly didn''t make the situation any better. If any, it just made me more upset. Perhaps this was all a display of sisterhood, a show of solidarity to the woman who could not provide for a husband. It sickened me. It all sickened me.


    I strode back to the house without a word. She kept her distance and I was glad. She would not see the rage that warped my face and would not ebb until I saw Torsten up ahead, watching out for our return. He need not know about any of this, I decided. I would continue with my day as normal. Next was lunch. And I would empty my mind of all thoughts to focus on the aroma of juniper berries and onions.


    I nodded to Torsten as I passed him. He piped up to ask whether he could sit with me while I prepared the meal, which was now a daily routine. ''It''s your house, my lord.'' I had answered with that so many times. But today I shook my head and replied, as inoffensively as I could manage, ''not today.''


    He knew instantly that something was wrong. I could tell from the way his smile dropped and he stole a glance behind me, at his mother. I didn''t know what expression she wore, and I didn''t intend to look back and find out. Instead, I went into the empty great hall and retreated to the kitchen, closing the door softly behind me.


    Now then. Lunch.