“He should be here by now!” Freydis stomps and throws yet another dress to the floor.
I roll my eyes and bend down to pick it up. From the moment she woke this morning, Freydis has been whipping through her room like a sandstorm in the desert. She’s lucky her longhouse has a wooden floor, unlike the barn, or the thralls’ shed I used to share with Helge. Or rather, I’m lucky, as I’m the one who washes her clothes.
“I’m sure he’s on his way,” I say, laying the dress on her bed with the others.
Freydis is already wriggling into yet another dress, her back to me. I walk over and tie the straps behind her shoulders. She gnaws on the nail of her forefinger as I do.
“Freydis.” I turn her to face me. “What’s really bothering you?”
She looks away. “What if his ship is damaged and sinking? Or—or blown off course by some wind or storm?”
“Is that what you want?”
A silent moment passes. Freydis sighs and turns to the door. “Of course not.”
I grab one of her cloaks and follow her outside. Lisa is high and bright overhead. The sky is the faintest blue a sky could be, the clouds as white. The breeze is warmer than it has been, carrying the sweet promise of summer, though the dreadful winter still won’t release its grip, visible in the ice and mud piled against the walls of the hall. It’s almost a beautiful day, this day that is supposed to bring Freydis’s husband-to-be to Skíringssal’s shores.
For the hundredth time today, Freydis scans the fjord for his ship.
“Helge will fetch us when Hakon has arrived,” I say, also for the hundredth time.
I watch her chew her bottom lip and fight the urge to offer any further word of comfort. She still doesn’t know that I have no intention of going with her to Trøndelag. That when the wedding is over, our friendship—if I can even call it that—will be over as well. Still, I can’t stop worrying about what will become of her in Hakon’s hall. I asked Freydis what he’s like, and all she knows is that he’s older than she is. But will he tolerate her curiosity? Will he let her grow into the woman she wants to be? Or will she end up like her mother, yoked to a man who only values her for her potential as a broodmare?
My mind drifts to old memories of Mama and Papa together. How they laughed together. How they always seemed to be touching each other—a hand on the shoulder, an arm around the waist. I am the fruit of a union of love; I can’t imagine how it must feel to have no choice in a mate.
Finally, the small dot of a ship appears at the bend of the fjord. Far from lighting up with joy, Freydis’s face seems to harden into stone. She spins on her heel and beelines back to her room without a word. I follow, closing the door behind us.
“I think this is the best one yet,” I say loudly, playfully ruffling the folds of her dress.
She gives me an empty smile and plops down on a cushion near the hearth. “You said that about the green one.”
I study her as she stares absently into the fire, picking at the corners of the braid I wove this morning. Her fine, slippery hair is already frizzing out of it.
I grab a brush and a few strands of dyed sinew. I stand behind her and undo the braid, smoothing the strands into submission. “Whenever I was upset,” I begin, “my friend Ampah would sit me down and braid my hair while I talked about whatever was bothering me.”
“That sounds nice,” she says. But she doesn’t offer more.
I arrange her hair in one big circular braid around her head, emulating the shape of a crown, as she requested. As I’m pinning it down, the door opens with a groan. Freydis rises with a start, nervously rubbing the creases of her dress.
“King Hakon of Trøndelag has arrived,” Helge says, using her most diplomatic tone. “Your father is in the Great Hall awaiting his entrance.”
The short walk to the Great Hall has never seemed longer. When we arrive, Helge and I step aside to let Freydis in first.
We find King Balli drumming his fingers on the arms of the throne. Freydis glances around, likely looking for Yngvild, who is curiously absent.
“Father.” She bows her head as we approach, but he doesn’t acknowledge her presence. I feel a bitter hatred bubbling up inside me, but I shove it back down. I have nothing to gain by mouthing off to King Balli, and plenty to lose.
Freydis stops just behind the throne and turns to face the door. Normally I would stand with the other thralls behind the guards at the side of the room, but Freydis grabs my hand before I can leave her side, squeezing hard. We wait in silence together as the sound of footsteps grows louder and louder. The two colossal doors heave a sigh as they’re pushed open, revealing half a dozen soldiers.
“King Hakon of Trøndelag,” announces one of the men before stepping to the side.
An old man with a large gut spilling over his leather belt enters the hall and strides toward us. His face is pink and crusty, creasing in the way that Majūs skin does when it has endured many winters. His beard is long and thick, but his wispy gray hair clings to his scalp for dear life. Trailing behind him is a thin, raven-haired girl with a flat face and shifty eyes, dressed in a formfitting linen shift and a gossamer blue dress. She looks to be about my and Freydis’s age, give or take a few years.
I frown as the man approaches us. “Princess Freydis,” he says in a deep, throaty voice before engulfing her delicate hand in his pink paw.
Freydis flashes something between a smile and a grimace. “King Hakon. We welcome you to Agder.”
It’s all I can do to keep the shock from twisting my face. This elder is King Hakon? He’s as old as Balli—at least!
“My messenger gave word of your great beauty,” he continues, “but words do not do you justice.” He brings her hand to his lips and gives it a loud, wet smooch. Freydis flinches, then catches herself. She lowers her chin demurely as he raises his head from her hand. His rich-brown eyes harden as they shift to the king.
“Balli!” Hakon exclaims, smiling like a boar baring his tusks.
Balli smirks down his nose. “King Hakon.”
“It’s been a long time, my friend. Allow me to present my own daughter, Asé.”
The raven-haired girl bows briefly. “It is an honor to meet you, King Balli,” she says. Her voice is treacly, like old syrup. Instantly, I don’t trust her. She turns to Freydis with a too-bright smile. “And you, Princess Freydis. Is it too soon to call you Mother?”
Freydis blanches. This girl her own age is to be her daughter by marriage.
“Speaking of mothers, where is your lovely wife?” asks Hakon.
“She is resting,” Balli replies. “She has been unwell. I didn’t want to tax her health before the ceremony.”
“I suppose she is getting on in years,” Hakon quips.
Balli’s lips twitch, then break into a joyless smile. “Aren’t we all, Hakon. Aren’t we all.”
Freydis stares at the ground in front of her. A lump rises to my throat at the sheer misery in her expression. As the two kings exchange backhanded pleasantries, I lean over and whisper into her ear in Soninke: “You said Hakon was an older man, but words don’t do his wrinkles justice.”
Freydis’s hand flies to her mouth as she stifles a laugh.
“Stop,” she says playfully in Soninke.
“I’ve never seen so large a belly on a man before. He looks more pregnant than your mother—”
The screech of the king’s throne scraping on the floor jolts us back to the present. He steps down from the platform to stand in front of us, staring daggers at me. I meet his hard gaze, unflinching.
Before I can blink, he slaps me hard across the face.
My head ricochets to the side, but my feet don’t betray me by stumbling back. I slowly turn my head back to him, meeting his eyes once again. Rage springs to life within me, matched by his own furious expression. He raises his hand to strike another time.
Hit me again. See what it gets you.
“I’m sorry, Father,” Freydis cuts in. “Yafeu was…calling upon her people’s gods to bless my marriage with Hakon.”
Balli’s face contorts into an unsettling smile. He lets his hand fall. “You would call on your African gods here? In this hall that is blessed by Odin himself?”
I say nothing.
“I should slaughter you like the animal you are for such blasphemy.”
“Father—”
“But…” He holds up a hand to silence Freydis. “I’m feeling rather generous today. The arrival of my old friend Hakon has set me in good humor.” His grin is almost inhuman now. “Bow before me, and I will ask the Allfather to forgive you.”
Silence stretches out. Gritting my teeth, I give a clipped bow, never taking my eyes from Balli’s.
He clucks disapprovingly. “Is that how you bowed to your black elf king?” He steps back, gesturing to the ground. “Bow before me like you would bow before him.”
I know what he wants to see. Behind Balli and Hakon, Asé’s thin lips curl into a satisfied sneer. I dig my fingers into my palms. Rage howls inside me.
But I don’t want to die. Not today.
So I fall to my knees, then my hands. Then I lower my forehead to the dirt. I stay like that, prostrated before him, for the span of a single breath. The longest breath of my life. And when it is done, I climb back to my feet.
“Much better,” Balli says triumphantly.
Hakon’s laugh is booming. “Such girlish nonsense! That will go away when I put a little prince in her belly.” He pokes Freydis’s stomach with a fat finger and winks.
“You must be tired from your travels.” Balli turns to Hakon and his men. “We’ve prepared several houses for your stay. I’ll show you the way.”
He throws me one last menacing glare over his shoulder as he leads Hakon and Asé from the hall.