“You asked me on that night if I’ve killed good men, innocent men or children. I will answer it now.”

“You don’t have to,” Jehanne tried to stop him. She had wanted to ask, yet now she did not want to listen. She noticed the pain and regret carried in his shaking voice.

“No l do. I need to know if you can still love me after everything I’ve done. I am a monster that doesn’t deserve...love.”

“Halle,” Jehanne softly touched Halle’s cheek showing hints of swelling from her slap when she warned him not to step closer.

“Listen, l beg of you.”

Jehanne reluctantly nodded.

“From young, I’ve heard dark thoughts. A bloodlust that knew no end, causing me to even kill a child.”

Halle glanced to see if Jehanne would run away from him scared, but she listened carefully.

He continued, “I had my mother and grandfather to beat lessons into me to be kind, honourable and brave. But when they died, I lost that good part of me that followed their teachings.”

His words slowed down, shaking at the past memory, “I was a child when I killed a boy, that does not excuse what I’ve done.”

“The words he mumbled under his breath taunted me, to say my mother wasn’t worthy of battle was the greatest disrespect.” Halle’s eyes hardened with an unforgotten fury.

“That disrespect led to my greatest regret. I killed the boy in front of the crowd, in front of his—” Halle paused.

An echo into the past reminded him of a scene holding splatters of blood blemishing soil as he struck a wooden sword down. Upon bone, a child’s skull you could hear crack with every swing.

“...His parents.” He finished the sentence feeling a sense of dread wash over him.

One word coursed through his mind when he flogged at the child’s corpse.

KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL.

Halle’s throat clogged as he spoke with shame, “I saw blood, red covered my vision as l slammed the wooden practise sword onto the boy’s head. I killed him and I don't even remember how he looks anymore.”

Confidence plummeting, Halle did not dare to look at Jehanne’s eyes in fear that she viewed him as a monster. Who wouldn’t? He asked himself.

“I...I do not go on vikings for wealth, experience nor fame. This blood thirst within me haunts my every step and l had to quench it.”

He lied to Arne when asked why he went on these trips that could easily end anyone’s life. Countless thoughts to kill screeched in the inner depths of his skull and spidered down his limbs. Hairy legs stringing webs to pull his body forwards to relentlessly murder.

Murder in cold blood.

“I’ve killed many men, innocent and good who did not deserve the taste of my sword’s sharp edge.”

Halle could only halt himself when people surrendered, but it took all his strength to stop the blade he wielded to not swoop down and let it savour blood. For that was his honour, shrewd indeed but taught to him from his mother.

“When l met you. The thoughts, they stopped. I used to be reliant on Hampr, a plant Ulfhednars use t0 calm themselves.”

Ulfhednars were warriors living in battlefields and as such, trauma plagued their mind and body. Hampr was a cure enabling them to be cold-hearted killers of strategy and collective fast decisions. Not rageful and dependent on bloodthirst like Berserkir.

“I don’t think I could be me without Hampr back then.”

Halle’s nightmares bombarded at night, seas of blood he alone would cause and forced to change from man to wolf in his imagination. He asked Gorm many times for Hampr, whenever he went viking so he could inhale its smoke to rid the bloodlust. He was calm and collective only then after breathing in the smell of the burning plant.

“But when l met you, l felt no need to breathe in the smoke. I felt calm for once, maybe it’s because you learned to not fear me. You became comfortable with me and so did l with you.” He grinned at the words.

“Now you know who I really am. A demon as you said once, a monster as you’ve said twice. Someone who does not deserve your love as you’ve probably thought thrice.”

Halle’s amulet that spoke of courage dangled on his neck with the wind’s movement, he turned to meet Jehanne’s eyes. Challenging her. “I understand if you find me disgusting. Terrifying. I am all of that.”

“I’m not a good person, can you find it within yourself to love such a mindless beast?” His eyes went head-on with the burning gaze of Jehanne’s stare.

He waited and waited with patience. Silence was all he heard, he sighed knowing it was the only outcome until a strand of hope appeared.

“I don’t know,” Jehanne answered.

She fumbled with her hands timidly. “I’ve come to learn about your smallest quirks from you liking fish over meat. How you always slowed your steps to walk beside me. How keen your eyes are when knowing the smallest detail about me.”

Jehanne inhaled a deep breath in as her hands touched at the pouch that held the Christian cross, words flowed out from her soft lips when she’d gained wisdom not from god, but her faith.

“I don’t know what to make of everything you’ve told me, I simply can’t. I’ve learned though from my time in Noreg that every person has a monster they hide within themselves.”

In a time and place where to kill or be killed was so common, she found herself loving the man that repented for his sins with guilt. So few did they exist in an era of death.

“I love you too,” she said for the first time. “Sins can be forgiven and If there is a monster inside of you l will tame it. Even wolves can be tamed, is that not true?”

They shared bittersweet smiles as Halle embraced her into his fragile hold, insecure and afraid of Jehanne escaping.

“Yes.” The night heard his final answer.

The two returned back into the home more fit to be a shack to reclaim a moment of quiet.

There was a story behind this place, it was built by the ambitions of Halle and Agneli’s hands. A smaller promise. When Agneli had first gained money from his sales of works, he bought wood and with the aid of Halle they built the small home.

To remember the view of the lake where secrets were told, a place cherished for truth. Somewhere that you can be true to yourself and find leisure in the darkness of companionship or solitude.

Halle and Jehanne honoured the house without lies beside the lake, sincerity alone carried their words. With the end of the Hestavíg festival, The sun awoke the many rising bodies from their long sleep.

Tove and Gro cleaned the manor and yawned at the work of being house servants. It was a routine of constant repetition where they earned their silver coin’s worth.

“Where did that thrall go? She was meant to do half of our work!” Tove grumbled.

Gro replied, “I saw her last with the jarl’s son.”

“Halle? The bitch must be trying to curry favour with him. She probably doesn’t realise he is going to be marrying Odell’s daughter,” Tove gossiped.

Gro gasped, “Is that true?”

“Of course, you could tell from their eyes alone they were in love. Two nobles of different clans, their fathers would want them to marry for power,” Tove said.

“Lucky child then,” Gro complimented.

Tove argued, “She is anything but a fortunate child, marrying Halle. Don’t you remember when he killed that boy for speaking on his mother? He was so ruthless back then.”

“I wouldn’t mind marrying him if it meant I could wear jewellery.” The old house servant Gro imagined wearing rings of silver and gold.

Speaking of the devil, Solveig crept up behind them exiting the manor’s guest room offered to Odell and her by Erik Tokesson.

“What is this about Halle?” She questioned.

The two house servants nearly shrieked as their shoulders yelped up with their souls about to leave their mouths. If Solveig had heard everything, they were willing to go on their knees to beg for mercy.

Solveig strolled past them when given no answer, she ignored their dazed expressions. Gro and Tove peered at her back as the noble sang a song to herself creepily.

“An ash I know, Yggdrasil its name.

With water white, is the great tree wet?

Thence come the dews that fall in the dale.

Green by Urth's well does it ever grow.”

Solveig would be like Urth, one of the Norns in Norse legend who could control men’s fate. It did not matter to her if Halle was a savage beast or untamed monster, she would lead him with a tight leash.

She hummed knowing all would be well, and if worse came to worse. Solveig would kill her brothers to inherit her father’s wealth instead to gain power, her eyes glinted with a fierce gaze at the thought. They weren’t able to visit due to one trading further away and the other managing the Sverke’s tribe resources while she and their father were in the Hati clan’s land.

All planned, she was cunning to the bone. Halle had not been wrong to be suspicious of her.

Moving across the manor’s halls. Solveig met the study room of Erik Tokesson, where he and her father were speaking. The door was closed but she placed her ear near the door to listen. It’d been a habit since young for her to eavesdrop on conversations.

“Do you have all the preparations for weapons and longships?” Odell inquired.

Erik smiled. “Not yet, we will be ready so long as the Ulfhednars are.”

“I’m glad to hear of your trust in Ulfhednars. You know the Sverke tribe hadn’t been so rich until recent years.”

Odell stared into the depth of his ale that reflected his aged face, one that had seen poverty.

“We had a poor harvest of crops two winters ago and we hadn’t received much trade. We were going to ask your clan for help but Harald Sigurdsson stopped me.”

Erik paused in his drinking of ale. “Why?”

Odell’s voice strained to remember how the king confronted him.

“If I asked for aid you would have to halt your vikings. The king wanted no interruptions and for the Ulfhednars to gain more experience so he can command them later.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, l would have given my help if l knew your struggles.” Erik had known Odell for years, it was true that he would’ve halted his vikings if to save the Sverke tribe.

“Do not worry, we are flourishing now thanks to Harald Sigurdsson.” Odell smiled.

“That is good to hear, l hope you thrive more after we conquer England.”

Odell grinned before grumbling, “I hear news that Normandy is planning ownership over England as well though.”

“Those bloody Normans, England will be ours first.” Erik slammed his fist down on the table.

“What of the Berserkir, why did they go to Frode’s tribe after the truce between Noreg and Danmǫrk ended?”

Frode’s tribe was the other clan that had visited Hati’s lands alongside the Sverke’s group.

“I know of Ulfhednar warriors, not of Berserkir. I only know that they are Noreg warriors who never stay in one place, the same information you know. I guess they wanted to venture in Danmǫrk’s lands after betraying us.”

Odell nodded. “It seems so. Unfortunate, we could have Berserkr and Ulfhednars invading England.”

“That would be impossible since Ulfhednars and Berserkr are rivals. They have a blood feud between each other.”

“You know much about Ulfhednars.” Odell as a Noreg chieftain knew about the shaman-warriors, yet it was limited in comparison to Erik.

“Of course, they’ve been here with us for years now, I’ve spoken with their shaman.”

Odell wondered about the shaman’s appearance. He assumed the individual to be a female as most who practised seiðr were. “Is she capable?”

“He,” Erik corrected. “He is good at times when l do not need him and other times poor when l do require his assistance.”

“He?” Odell’s brow raised.

“Yes, l was surprised as well.”

“Ergi!” Odell slammed his fist down onto the study table full of maps messily unorganised.

The same word Agneli said many years ago about Gorm, a great insult to one’s manliness.

“You come to accept it.” Erik sipped at his mug of water. He’d had too much ale last night with Odell, his stomach reeled at the beer burning his intestines like acid.

Odell harshly remarked, “I would never accept him into my town, I’d make sure he cowers in fear after letting him hear the townspeople curse at him.”

“That’s where we differ, I will use anyone and reward them so long as they are useful to me. If they are not, they are no better than being dead to me.”

“Cruel and decisive as always Erik,” Odell guffawed into his beard he combed.

Nearly all Norsemen tried to grow a beard as a show of manliness and those who managed to grow one often groomed their hair. Sverke’s jarl was no different from his brown facial hair that roamed his face brushed with a comb, it was a sense of cleanliness as it removed any lice that fouled his hair.

Lice were a common issue for Norsemen even if they showered more frequently than most of Europe. Combs made from the bones of animals and later ground down or carved from wood were a solution to the complication.

“There is no point of grooming any further when you are about to leave Odell.” Erik chuckled, seeing his fellow chieftain be so thorough with his hair.

“Better safe than sorry. I don’t want any lice and besides, it is for me to keep my reputation amongst my people. I envy how your beard is naturally fair.”

“I still dye it for special events such as yesterday,” Erik said.

“You can dye it again when you come to the Sverke tribe in time. You won the Hestavíg and in good sportsmanship, l hope you will return the favour of allowing another rematch in my lands.”

“I will always be ready to prepare a horse that can beat yours.”

“Good! I can’t wait to wipe that smile on your face. I’ll make sure you get to meet my sons as well.”

“What about your eldest daughter Alva?” It’d been long since Erik laid eyes on her since she was a young child.

“You won’t be able to meet Alva. She married a noble in far lands, she’s mighty happy about the arrangement.”

Solveig ground her teeth hearing her father’s words behind the closed door.

Clasping forearms after sharing a casual conversation, the jarls left the study room and Odell prepared to head back home after the festival. Solveig sneaked in. She searched the maps and found Normandy and the location of Frode’s tribe where the Berserkr resided.

Locations scorched into her memory in case of her first two plans failing. If she could not own the power of Hati’s clan or her father’s tribe, Solveig would seek out Normandy and see who held the most power there to reign over. Frode’s tribe would be her last choice, she did not consider them to be civil if they’d accepted the crazy warriors known as Berserkir.

She had reasons for power, Solveig did not want to become a pawn on a Hnefatafl board where her entire future would be gambled for profit.

Solveig's hands balled into fists recalling how her father stated Alva, her elder sister, was happily married off.

It was the most distant thing he could’ve said, Alva was sold off for the mere gain of connections to a wealthy fat old man, filthy and who reeked of mead.

Wives could divorce men in the culture of Norsemen, but Alva wouldn’t break the marriage as she’d gone for Solveig’s sake, she had taken Solveig’s burden to marry. Alva accepted her miserable fate of no love but slave to a jarl even though she was a noble.

Solveig planned to save her sister, the sole family member she cared for. Their mother died early, their brothers lusted for higher status and had treated Solveig and Alva with contempt. They stood proudly as breadwinners of the family. Her father the largest scoundrel, she planned to murder him first before she poisoned her brothers.

They knew greed, but Solveig’s gluttony for power to purchase her elder sister’s livelihood knew no bounds. She would sell her body, enter any marriage if it could save her sister Alva.

Whether it be Halle, Normans, Berserkr, it did not matter. Age didn’t mean anything to her either, she was young and in the Norse life of marriage, older men seemed to flock towards youths. She would make her age of eighteen an advantage.

“Wait for me, Alva. I’ll free you from the grasps of that grimy jarl.” Solveig prayed her sister could hear her words for however far she may be.

“Alva hurry and come to the bed!” Jarl Halfdan called out.

A woman entered the cold room, a place she did not wish to be in. Alva in her thirties edged closer to the bed holding a man layered with fat to cover his family jewels. The only thing on par with his obesity was the wealth he flaunted that sung tunes hypnotising her father and brothers.

Alva crept onto the bed creaking with the burden of another weight. She wanted to pinch at her nose, but she knew it would offend the man who hadn’t showered for more than a month.

Unlike many Norsemen who showered weekly and some even more frequently in comparison to the

“Are you happy here Alva?” Halfdan’s lecherous gaze roamed her body with slimy eyes.

“Why wouldn’t I be happy?” Alva smiled, she’d practise it many times to ensure it wouldn’t fall.

“It just seems to me you don’t enjoy my company. Half the time l sleep with thralls instead of you, why don’t you keep me company tonight.”

“I don’t know, why not use the thralls you keep dear.”

“I want you.”

“But—”

Halfdan scowled, “I gave your father coins to marry your sister but I was given you. At least show your gratitude.”

“What gratitude if l may ask?” She grimaced as Halfdan lousily attempted to coerce her into a night of repulsing acts.

“That l was humble enough to take you or would you want your younger sister in your place. I could arrange that.”

“No. I love to be here, you can’t bring my sister when I’m by your side,” Alva rushed to say.

“I’m not in the best of moods after Harald Sigurdsson emptied my pockets to help him invade England. So show me your love that you speak of before l invite your little sister here.”

Halfdan slouched back waiting for Alva to pleasure him.

She hesitated but thought of her sister, praying Solveig wasn’t sold off to another man like her. Alva had made a promise with her father Odell to not let Solveig be taken to Halfdan, and this was the result.

She squeezed her eyes shut and took a moment to lean her head down to satisfy the man’s lust. Her stomach clenched hard as she grappled with the bile that wanted to come up.

Halfdan watched with a smile seeing the daughter of a jarl be at his mercy. A toy for him to use until broken.

Snoring after the night’s passionate lovemaking, Alva sat beside a polished bronze mirror the jarl had managed to purchase from trades.

Alva stared into the reflection of a broken woman sullied in places she wished to save for someone she loved. Defiled by an ugly creature no less, his fingers had snaked his way underneath her clothes and took pleasure in only what he desired.

Hands reaching her face, they cupped together to hide swelling despair threatening to overflow. Shoulders trembling and chest heaving, tears did not fall. It’d been two winters already since she last saw her sister. She hoped Solveig was happy with a man she loved unlike her. Alva imagined how her younger sister would look as now a woman of eighteen winters.

The memory of Odell arguing with her in his room was clear as day repeating itself in her mind.

“How can you offer Solveig to someone she hasn’t even met no less to someone whose thirty-five winters older!” Alva strained.

“Hush your voice girl. What would you have me do when your brothers are failing at their trades and l am losing money aiding the king of Noreg.”

“Don’t sell her to another clan, she is your daughter.”

“A girl who cannot pull her weight around the house!”

Solveig wasn’t always so cunning, at the age of sixteen winters she was equal to an ornament on Christmas trees, no value without her beauty.

“She is sixteen winters old!” Alva cried.

“Old enough to be married to someone. She will be leaving the tribe for the good of Sverke!”

The Sverke tribe was thriving in poverty flourishing with poor people. Goods of fur spoiled with misfortune ruined from poor handling and the crop's harvest were appalling to the point where they relied on hunting instead.

Halfdan offered coins and connections to other traders providing aid in not only the Sverke tribe but Alva’s elder brother Torsten who began his journey of venturing out to trade just like his father.

Odell was a trader before he became jarl as being the oldest offspring of his father.

Alva’s eldest brother Bo would also gain to garner more resources to make the Sverke clan blossom once more with riches given from Halfdan. Bo learned from their father to manage wealth but made many mistakes, being the oldest Bo would come to inherit a majority of Odell’s estates.

Halfdan’s offer was too enticing for the greedy brothers and father, yet Alva had to ask.

“What about the Hati clan, will they not help?”

“The Hati clan has nothing to give us but warriors and even then, the king of Noreg has asked me not to interrupt their vikings for they need food as well, to feed their people and Ulfhednars.”

“Can’t they spare us food and not go on vikings?” Alva almost pleaded.

“Harald Sigurdsson is planning to conquer Danmǫrk, England and Svíaríki. He wants to unite all the lands and become one ruler of all kingdoms.”

Odell pulled at his hair.

“The greedy maniac is trying to give the Hati clan’s Ulfhednars more experience so he can use the barbarians more effectively when the time comes to invade.”

“He’s lost his mind!” Alva said.

“You think l don’t know that, if it wasn’t Harald Sigurdsson l wouldn’t give a damn about his orders. But he told me in time he would aid the Sverke clan. Lying maggot-mouth, where is our aid, where?!”

Odell kicked at chairs thrashing his room until it became messier than a pigsty.

He breathed out with reluctance but accepting an undeniable fate.

“Solveig will go to jarl Halfdan. He is the closest one willing to provide aid enough to save us and isn’t in any perils that will worsen our situation.”

Alva glared at her father. “For coins, you are willing to give your youngest daughter away?”

Odell hissed the word out hammering it down into Alva’s ear.

“For the Sverke tribe and for our family? Yes, l will give away Solveig’s hand in marriage.”

“Solveig is part of our family!”

“Alva…” Odell hesitated for once.

“What is it, are you going to tell me Solveig isn’t part of the family now?!”

“SOLVEIG IS A BASTARD CHILD!” Odell panted, he felt he’d lost a tenth of his lifespan with the anger searing his insides.

Alva’s face paled at the answer. “What?”

“Solveig is an illegitimate child. Your mother had her and told me the baby was mine when she wasn't. Later she tried to run away with her secret lover."

“You’ve always told us mother died out in a snowstorm, you never said she ran away.” Alva was in a state of shock at the news.

“Oh, she never managed to run away when l killed her with her secret lover. The bitch slept with another man and lied to my face each day saying she visited the ports to buy jewellery.”

Odell continued with bated breaths.

“Even worse, l raised Solveig for three years with love before realising your mother had the affair. I raised the child for fifteen more years but she was always a sore spot to the eyes, now l can get rid of her.”

“You killed mother…” Alva stumbled back.

“What? Are you going to tell your elder brothers their mother died by their father’s hands? Are you going to tell Solveig she is an illegitimate child?”

His questions rang deafening her ears in the dead of night where she and he spoke, unknown to them one child eavesdropped their conversation.

Alva crossed her arms. “I will do none of that.”

“Good,” Odell sighed. Glad to hear his one true daughter had heard the voice of reason until she spoke again.

“I will take her place.”

“You’ll do what?”

“I said, I. Will. Take. Solveig’s. Place.”

“Why would you want to take her place?” I’m proud of you as my real daughter.”

“That’s the problem. You should be proud of both daughters,” Alva sneered. “You’ve raised Solveig long enough that she is part of the family.”

Odell tried to persuade her, “Don’t let your judgement be clouded Alva.”

“My mind has never been more clear than now.” Alva reached for a dinner knife on a table and brought it to her throat. “If you let Solveig go to Halfdan l will kill myself.”

“You wouldn’t—”

Knife drawn to her neck drawing blood with the edge digging into skin.

“Stop you fool!”

Alva continued to dig the knife’s edge into her throat, blood dripped down to the floor.

“Fine you can go in Solveig's place, you wretched idiot.”

“Thank you,” Alva breathed out.

She hurried to place cloth over her neck covering the wound of a shallow cut.

“You promise to let her marry the one she loves and to not tell her that she isn’t your daughter as well.”

Odell grumbled but agreed.

He had to ask though, “Why would you do such a thing for her?” I could trap you here and still give Solveig away, but something tells me that you would kill yourself if l were to do such a thing.”

“l will take my life if you break our promise, l mean every word. I don’t want her to be given a terrible life like mine. Solveig doesn’t need to follow in my steps.”

“I’ve given you everything you wanted.” Odell’s brows furrowed in a lack of understanding.

Odell cherished Alva as his one real daughter, making her life a blessing of no hardships treating her like a child rather than the woman she was. He had yet to see how his sons treated their sisters in secret as well.

“I’m treated no less than a child here. I’m a grown woman babysitted by you and don’t get me started on my arrogant brothers.”

Alva’s voice was heavy with disdain, Odell may care for her but her brothers Bo and Torsten were the apple to his eye as sons he saw more value in.

“You give them more money than they know how to spend properly. No wonder the Sverke tribe’s wealth has been squandered.”

Odell roared, “Don’t speak ill on your older brothers!”

“I’ll say whatever I want.”

Tears stained Alva’s cheeks as her hoarse voice yelled, “You killed mother because she had an affair but did you ever think of how she felt being murdered by the person she once loved.”

“I don’t want to be anywhere near the person who killed mother,” Alva poured out her heart’s sorrows.

Odell tried to argue, “She slept with another man!”

“Does that mean she deserved to die? You could have divorced her!”

Odell’s knuckles turned white as his fists clenched. “My pride would not be able to handle it, the whore got what she deserved—punishment.”

If a married woman was caught cheating, the husband could divorce his wife, kill or enslave her in some instances.

“Maybe you were the reason she had an affair, did you ever think of that?!”

Slapped across the face, Alva fell to the floor dishevelled.

“Leave if you wish to disrespect me. Do not regret taking Solveig’s place when you argued for it.”

Alva spat on the wooden floor of her father’s quarters.

“You never knew to show your gratitude when needed. You unfilial daughter.” Odell’s glaring eyes held spears that could pierce through shields.

“Good riddance to you too.” She slammed the door shut and touched at her swollen cheek.

Wincing at the burning touch, Alva dropped to the floor like a shattered plate as her mind cracked with her mournings.

“Mother,” She whispered.

Remembering the gentlewoman caring for her daughters and sons with more warmth than any other mother to her children.

She made sure to wrap their forehead in cloth damp with cold water whenever they caught a fever during winter. She cooked, placing the most important ingredient to each dish filling their bellies, a mother’s love. Raising four children wasn’t easy alone and with their father always out for trade bargains to acquire more riches, their mother must’ve desired for the touch of a man.

Alva imagined why her mother cheated on Odell.

It was never too late to grieve and she cried harder as she stumbled against the manor’s walls. During the night, no one heard her muffled wailing covered by her arm that she bit into to quieten the cries.

Her brothers Torsten and Bo weren’t home but Solveig was, Odell and Alva had spoken late at night though she had no misgivings that her younger sister heard. Solveig was a deep sleeper. Alva stopped at Solveig’s room and wiped at her dried tears, she wanted to share one last night together before she was sent to jarl Halfdan.

Alva stopped in her steps hearing someone cry.

Not herself.

But her younger sister.

“Solveig?”