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There was no way of knowing how much time elapsed during the king’s visit. I began to lose track of things not long after he left. Perhaps I’d placed more hope in the idea of clemency than I’d been willing to let myself believe. Perhaps there had still been some stubborn part of me clinging to life. This was a single man, a rather good man. The rest of them would follow his command.
But the king had declared I would die. That hope was finished now.
There was nothing left ahead.
It was late in the evening by now, with the summer sun just sinking low enough to touch the tips of the western trees. A riot of color burst from their point of connection, like the breaking of the mountain floods, spilling reds and oranges and burnished golds across the sky.
That is lovely.
The higher clouds tossed their caps backwards in a feathering wisp, like foaming surf trying to escape the sea. Only the very tips clung to their ivory, but the rest was soon immersed, a vibrant suffusion, with shadowy violets and dusky roses swelling underneath.
I had seen a thousand such sunsets before, but somehow, never quite like this one.
Perhaps some passing god had decided to be kind. Perhaps some physical part of me simply knew it was going to be my last. The king was meeting with council. Then came my sentence.
My entire body was tingling. I could scarcely feel the ground beneath my feet.
I remembered drifting to the window, watching the king’s procession cross the village square. It wasn’t much, considering the man was royalty. Just the two guards that had brought him, flanking either side. I’d heard they did things differently across the sea; with grand courts and a hundred ready attendants, an entire royal household that traveled place to place with the king.
Granted, he wasn’t a king, but an emperor. And despite the iron that tipped their swords, Romans had always been soft. At least, that was the story we liked to tell ourselves when they were storming through our villages and tearing down our walls. They indulged in luxuries, lay idle in their grand houses. We were Viking, made of sturdier stuff. Our king moved of his own accord.
Even as I was watching, one of the guards turned at the last moment and caught my eye. By now, it was easy to recognize him; I could have picked out the lieutenant’s face in my dreams. He was glaring, though the reason was somewhat of a mystery. Men hated all that defied them, and I supposed that by escaping his violent plans for me in the barracks, that now included me.
With an almost idle detachment, I returned his gaze for a moment, watching as he turned straight forward, the king walking alongside. I expected them to head towards the Great Hall; if the council wasn’t gathered loosely inside, it was coming on time for the evening feast. But they paused halfway across the square, turning in a direction I hadn’t anticipated, one that took them south of the chamber, past the barracks and towards the quieter, nicer streets. It was where his bannermen had been housed, they’d been slowly displacing the wealthier village residents for weeks. I wondered if he was going now, to speak with Erik. Or possibly even Steffen, if my warning had taken hold.
It wasn’t long before they vanished from my gaze, but still, I stood there staring, leaning idly against the window, feeling almost strangely at peace. By now, there was no one in the courtyard below me. The excitement of my capture had faded, and there was little sport to be had in calling jeers at a pale-faced girl too high above the courtyard to hear. They would come back when it was time to kill me. There would be great crowds, people of all ages and station. It would be a rallying point throughout the entire settlement. Vendors would be selling merchandise and snacks.
There was a sudden movement in my periphery, and I turned my eyes just in time to see a large hawk swoop out of the sky. Most of them came to roost at this time, arrowing down from the heavens towards the forest. At this point, I almost wasn’t surprised when this one settled at my side.
“Hello again,” I murmured, watching as it alighted on the window. We were impossibly close, nearly touching. The bristling tips of its feathers brushed against my arm. “Have you come to keep me company? Is this all because I saved you from the thorns?”
The hawk cocked its head, staring with a single eye.
Of all the things that had happened over the last few days, the bird’s sudden and insistent appearance seemed one of the strangest. Yet, there was nothing about it that felt strange now. My life was gone, my body was tingling, and I could do nothing but stare at the summer sunset.
I stroked a single finger, running it along the creature’s wings.
“They’re going to kill me tomorrow,” I said with an odd lack of inflection. How bizarre it must look from the outside. The imprisoned witch, conversing absently with a hawk. But there were no people below me. They had finished another day of wild revelry, and were heading inside. “Still no word on how they’re going to do it, but I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.”
My eyes traced again over the sunlit clouds; I sniffed, trying to catch the familiar scent of the sea. All day long, I’d been getting salted breezes. Now the air was stagnant and still.
It added to the dreamlike quality. Was there anything alive in this world except me?
The hawk shuffled a step closer, its talons clinging to the edge of the stone. I glanced to the side, surprised it would get closer, only to see it regarding me with the same unnatural intensity as before. My brow creased, and I regarded it warily, wondering if it was going to strike.
I’d believed it felt grateful, indebted. At one point, I’d sincerely believed it had been trying to talk. But there was something different in its gaze, a focus that seemed too deliberate for an animal.
A shiver swept over my arms. I was about to shoo it away—
Blazing hells!
With a sound like a scream, I left my body entirely, detaching from all sense of reality as I bolted from the tower and lifted suddenly into the air. My arms shot out beside me, flapping for balance, careening wildly to avoid the ground. Another scream ripped from my mouth, except this time, it sounded like something different. It sounded like something familiar.
It sounded like a hawk.
It can’t be!
In a windswept frenzy, I twisted my neck around as far as I could, looking back at the tiny window—empty, where I had left it. My eyes widened in panic, in disbelief. This simply couldn’t be happening, couldn’t be real. I had to be dead already, this proved it. I’d been led to the river, or the noose, and my mind had splintered, unable to handle the weight of its own death. I was most likely burning already, or buried. My stomach heaved and the image dipped abruptly. I saw the roof of the blacksmith’s shop careening towards me, looming larger and larger, ready to smash me to bits.
That was when another consciousness eased forward, easing mine back.
Breathe.
It wasn’t my voice that echoed in my head, but another. Deeper, and older. The same voice that had called out in warning, the day I’d almost lost control and used my powers trying to set Henny free. Strangely enough, I didn’t think it belonged to the hawk. I could feel the bird now, as something separate and adjacent. I had been assimilated somehow inside it, floating high on the ocean breezes and seeing the world beneath me through a pair of diamond-bright, roving eyes.
I breathed. First once, then again.
The picture grew sharper, steading and leveling out. I was able to make sense of things now, see past the constant battering of wind against my face. There was the village well, a donkey pulling a wagon behind it, the line of booths that bordered the street outside the arena.
In truth, it was almost peaceful. To see the world from a place slightly above and detached from it; floating along in the sunlight, not the shadows; a part of things, but not quite.
Then the hawk started to dive.
No, I thought wildly, looking for something to grab onto.
How could I grab anything? What was there to find?
I was trapped in a freefall, and no longer had arms, but wings. Long, feathered wings that shaded the ground beneath me. I could measure my distance by the size of my own approaching shadow—sliding along the rooftops, rippling across the grass. I was streaking deeper and deeper into the settlement, my eyes alighting on a snowy head of hair.
A breath caught somewhere inside me; not in fear, but recognition. The king had left my cell only a few minutes before—I could pick him from a crowd. He was moving swiftly, still flanked by the two guards who’d escorted him to the tower. They had passed the barracks, and were heading towards the quieter, wealthier streets that housed the visiting bannermen. I alighted on a rooftop, watching as he conferred briefly with his lieutenant, before being pointed towards a large house near the end of the street.
It was bigger than any I’d ever seen, not that I had much by way of comparison. Despite our outward disdain for everything Roman, our finer houses had been made in their style. Less of a cottage and more like a villa. An outer frame of rooms, with a flowering courtyard held inside.
I watched as the guards stepped forward, rapping briskly at the door.
What in the hells is happening? Why are we here?
It was easy to ask the question as if we were two separate entities. I was half-expecting an answer, for that strange voice to echo once again through my head. But the world was quiet, and I watched through the eyes of the hawk, as the door opened and a servant appeared in the frame.
“Good evening,” the king said graciously. “Might we come inside?”
Even from my own bizarre perspective, it was impossible not to feel sorry for the girl. She’d been scrubbing the hearth moments earlier, humming to herself on hands and knees; now she was frozen like a wide-eyed statue in the doorway, trapped beneath the gaze of the Viking king.
She swallowed quickly, making a little gasping sound.
“Of course—of course, my lord. Your Majesty.” She took a quick step backwards, gesturing the trio through the door. “But the master of the house is gone at the moment—”
“I am not here for Steffen,” the king interrupted calmly, his long robes sweeping behind him as he stepped across the frame. “I am looking for his nephew, Ander’s son.”
The door swung shut behind him, and something bristled inside me. I felt it with the detached curiosity of a passenger, my talons tightening their grip upon the roof. The feeling passed as quickly as it had come, and with shocking ease, I tracked the progress of the group as they made their way through the villa. There were other sounds coming from within; water splashing, voices murmuring, the thud of an axe as someone chopped wood for the nightly fire.
Then another door opened, and suddenly, they were in the courtyard.
It was only then I realized, they were not alone.
Erik.
It took a second for me to spot him, sitting on a bench in the opposite corner, half-hidden beneath the branches of a flowering tree. There was a book in his hands, but he didn’t seem to be reading it. Mostly, his eyes were drifting, lost in the colors streaking across the sky.
Every so often, they would drift towards the tower.
Every so often, his shoulders would fall with a quiet sigh.
“Leave us,” the king commanded, just loud enough for his own party to hear. The others vanished with a respectful bow, as he started pacing forward.
The courtyard was vast, one of the largest in the village, and Erik hadn’t yet seen him. The wind was blowing in gently from the ocean, mixing with the distant sounds of the settlement, and the young man was lost in his own world, eyes drifting across the patches of sky that shone between the branches of the tree. For nearly a full minute, the king stood there watching. His hands were folded at the waist, the same as when he’d stood in my cell, and a faint smile was stirring on his face.
After a few moments, he cleared his throat. “Am I disturbing you?”
Erik startled to attention, pushing quickly to his feet. He knelt down just as fast, sinking into a respectful bow. “My lord,” he said swiftly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were there.” He clung to the book all the while, keeping a finger in the page.
The king regarded him a moment unobserved, smiling a little at the melancholy scene. It seemed to strike a fondness in him, perhaps a nostalgia.
After a few moments, he flicked his hand. “Please, rise. May I join you?”
He was already pacing to the bench as Erik straightened to his feet, settling gracefully upon the stone. The young bannerman hesitated a moment, eyeing the parity with a trace of unease, before taking the seat beside him. Twice, his eyes flickered to the door that led to the villa.
I sailed down on silent wings, perching on the branch of an apple tree.
“What are you reading?” the king asked pleasantly, nodding at the book.
Erik glanced down in surprise, like he hadn’t realized he was still holding it. His fingers tightened on the cover, and the slightest flush colored his cheeks.
“They are poems,” he answered. “It belongs to my mother.”
“She gave it to you for the trip.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I am surprised you can read it.”
“She taught me that as well.”
“An industrious woman.”
Erik nodded silently, flashing a sideways glance.
It was not uncommon for a bannermen to sit in conversation with the king. But most of the king’s lords were twice his age, and the pair had only been introduced a few days before. He’d spent most his time in the northern lands, far away from the capital.
“My uncle isn’t here,” he volunteered with just the slightest hint of nerves. “I believe he’s at the nightly feast. If you wish to speak with him, I’d be glad to send a message—”
“I wish to speak with you,” the king interrupted casually, hands folded on his knees. “I never got a chance to congratulate you after your victory in the arena. Haldon is not an easy opponent. I had actually hoped you might accompany me on the hunt, but I hear you had an eventful day.”
Erik’s face went still, paling a little in the fading light. “Yes, my lord.”
A thrumming quiet fell over the courtyard, framed by the murmuring sounds in the distance, the gentle stirring of the breeze. The blossoms above them fluttered on the branches, filling the air with a sweet fragrance. It was too lovely a place to have so precarious a conversation. On the other side of the villa, a servant was wandering with a long taper, seeing the torches lit.
“You found yourself a witch,” the king prompted, almost gently. His head bent forward, trying to catch the boy’s eyes. “Had you ever met one before?”
I bristled again. This time, the feelings were my own. Had you ever met one? Like I was some haggish novelty. A spectacle to be pointed at from the street.
Erik flashed him a quick look, then shook his head. “No, my lord. I would not have thought...”
He trailed into silence, and I found in that particular moment, I would have given a great deal to hear the thing he didn’t say.
The king leaned onto his knees, taking a guess. “You would not have thought, she’d be so likable?”
Again, Erik looked at him, his bright eyes wide with surprise. He must not have thought there was a chance in the world the king might know me. Of course, he would never guess the man had already visited my cell. Then again, I’d been serving in the Great Hall, and again in the arena.
He looked so shocked, the king actually chuckled.
“Peace, child. I do not blame you. The loveliest of flowers are sometimes laced with the deadliest poison. The girl cannot help it. She was born the same.”
I watched from above them, feeling like I’d slipped into a dream.
In a hundred years, I could not have imagined this moment. These two men, having this particular conversation. And me, listening unseen from the branches of a tree.
Feathers and wings.
I turned my gaze to Erik, curious to hear what he might say.
“A poison,” he repeated quietly, eyes on the grass. “She saved my life.”
“I heard about that,” the king replied, staring attentively at the side of his face. “I heard you spoke on her behalf in the moments after, made a scene and confronted my guards. They were not happy about it,” he said this last part with a trace of amusement, though his expression remained clear. “She is a witch and will burn. Did you expect something different?”
My breath caught, and for a moment, the world stood still.
I am to burn.
Erik tensed a little, shaking his head. “No, my lord.”
But a layer of tension fell over the courtyard, and it was clear that wasn’t the only thing he wished to say.
The king waited patiently a few seconds, before prompting him once again. “Say it plain, boy.”
Their eyes met briefly in the fading light.
“You find it so easy to judge?” Erik asked softly, holding his gaze. It was said without the slightest impertinence, just a quiet sincerity. “Are there no exceptions? Could she not be a good person, and a witch? Her life was her own, yet she gave it for mine. I cannot...” His eyes drifted once more to the tower, before falling to his lap. “I cannot reconcile it.”
For a split second, I was abruptly terrified. It mattered not whether he actually felt such a thing, why would he ever risk saying it? And to the king, no less? People most likely already thought he’d been under an enchantment. He was lucky not to be penned in the cell next to mine.
I waited for the blow to fall, but the king merely nodded.
“Yes, I supposed as much. I would even say it speaks well of you,” he continued pensively, looking the boy up and down. “And to answer your question, it is never easy to judge. Though it is sometimes required. There are certain absolutes in this world. Witchcraft is one of them.”
Erik stared back at him, the book still clutched in his hand. “In her life, she has harmed no one,” he said quietly, almost urgently. “The drunk who lives at the end of the street poses more of a threat.” He paused a moment, drawing breath, like the hesitation before a great leap. “Your Majesty, I would beg you to consider releasing her.”
What?!
The king raised his eyebrows, as some part of me froze in shock.
“Release her,” he repeated incredulously, half-stunned by the request.
“Banish her from the kingdom,” Erik blurted, amending on the fly. “A life sentence, never to return. No one could fault you for it,” he added swiftly, before the king could reply. “Clemency was modeled by the gods themselves. A king is merely their vessel. Such mercy is divine.”
It was the kind of thing one might hear in a schoolhouse, chanted in recitation by children around the fire. It was the kind of thing one lost, past a certain age. A sincerity that could never be rekindled. Yet it was precisely that forthright candor that had first drawn the king’s eyes.
“Mercy is divine,” he repeated under his breath, shaking his head with a slow smile. “That is exactly the kind of thing your father might have said. You truly are his son.” He paused a moment, eyes dancing in the torchlight. “A king is merely the gods’ vessel. Do you really believe that?”
Erik paused uncertainly, worried he’d gone too far. “I have nothing but respect for Your Majesty—”
“That is not what I asked.”
An abrupt silence fell between them, one that might have easily gone either way. The hawk leaned closer of its own accord, watching each pass of conversation with a flicker of its eyes.
“Yes, I believe that,” Erik finally answered, no louder than a murmur. He forced himself to look up, meeting the king’s eyes. “It was meant as the highest compliment. What greater privilege is there, but to serve at the gods’ leisure? What greater honor for a man in this life?”
For a suspended moment, the two men stared at one another.
Then the king inclined his head. “Yes, that’s exactly right.”
There was a shifting of expression, of decision. This conversation was ending, and another was springing to life. With a sudden surety, the king pushed to his feet, watching as the young man did the same. Many years stretched between them, but they stood at a similar height.
“I am growing old,” he said abruptly, “without an heir to leave my throne, a son to carry on my family name. Many times, I have asked the gods why they saw fit to take my boys from me. I can see now, it is because someone else was always meant to take their place.” There was a brief pause, a gathering of breath. “But this business with the girl...it troubles me. Like a stone in my shoe. It’s not that your mind goes to mercy, there is something admirable in that. But the girl is a witch, her fate preordained. The fact that you’re unable see that...?”
He trailed into thoughtful silence, looking the boy up and down.
“I’m going to tell you the same thing I told your father,” he finally concluded, “when he came to me one night many years ago, asking the same thing: we do not often get to choose the cause for which we draw our swords, but we must always be certain.”
He paused beneath the flowering branches, looking the young man in the eyes.
Erik stared back, his mouth slightly open he held his breath.
“Once the decision is made, we must live with it forever.”
