Page 95 of Heart of Winter
“You already have. If someone has a problem with you, it’s their own fault, and nothing you’ve done. Here, now, let’s stand.” They’d arrived at the massive fir, and drawn quite a few anticipatory glances at this point.
Revna raised her voice, the battlefield projection trick that her brother did so well, and which she’d learned from him at a young age. “If I can have everyone’s attention for a moment? Thank you.
“Welcome. Welcome, everyone. We hope you have feasted, and feasted well, because now it’s time to ask for the gods’ favor!”
A cheer went up. Everyone stood, ready to come forward. But holding back, waiting for their lady to give the nod, letting her choose the first worshipper.
Revna patted Tessa’s arm, and then released it. “Go on, then.”
Tessa took a huge breath, and then stepped forward, head held high, even if her shoulders were stiff beneath her mantle. She was a graceful girl, and no less so now, as she bent to select an ornament from the crate and approached the tree, fingertips smoothing over the silver piece she’d chosen. Revna had expected her to pick one of the finely-wrought reindeer, with proud antlers, and prouder carriage, inscribed with runes wishing for peace and prosperity throughout the land; a prayer for a strong Aeretoll, and a happy, prosperous people.
But instead she’d chosen a wolf: its head ducked, its legs caught mid-stride, cunning and fearsome. Its prayer asked for bravery, and boldness; for the chance to chase after what one wanted most. A selfish prayer, some thought, chosen often by warriors wishing for glory in battle, or titles pinned to their breasts. But Revna didn’t think so; she thought it was a prayer for a strength of spirit; a prayer for the willfulness to do what was needed, what was wanted.
Tessa took a long moment selecting the perfect branch, then hung the ornament and stepped back, hands folded demurely before her, gazing up at the little silver wolf as the candlelight flickered against its etched surface.
It was wolves, after all, who’d set upon the girl on her first ride through the forest; driven her up a tree in the tooth-chattering cold, frightening her out of her mind.
And it was the wolf that Revna had always associated with her younger son. Leif was her beast of burden, her dutiful heir – but Rune was the wild thing, head thrown back to the sky, eyes alive with starlight.
Tessa would do her duty, same as Leif, but hearts went where they willed.
Revna turned to glance over her shoulder, wanting to see the way her two sons gazed at the girl, to see if she could read in their eyes what they would not say with words.
But her gaze was caught – and arrested – by another’s.
Revna could not recall her eldest brother, Herleif, save in the vaguest terms. An impression of a grin, of a hand gently cupping the top of her head in careful affection.
Arne she remembered better, but he’d been heir by that point, and too old to be her friend, too focused on the future, and on battle, and on living up to Father’s expectations.
It was Erik she’d tagged along after, wanting to get her hands dirty, and play boy games. For all that he’d probably resented her presence, he’d been patient with her, a leader even then, though he’d never expected to lead.
Of his two closest companions, Torstan had been the golden god with the glittering smile and the sly looks. Bjorn had been the stolid, steadfast right hand. Always agreeing with Erik, always ready to jump in front of him to take the first blow when a friendly sparring match turned to a skirmish. Father had always joked that when his mother named him for a bear, he’d been bound to become one. In a world of large, strong men, he’d been larger and stronger. He carried a sword that a Southern lord wouldn’t have been able to lift, much less wield. With his thick, dark hair, and his massive hands, his booming laughs, he’d grown into his name admirably.
But Revna thought it wasn’t always a fair assessment. For all that he was huge and fearsome in battle, he wasn’t brutish. Wasn’t cruel. He was, despite all outward appearances, quite soft-hearted.
She hadn’t begun to suspect that he might be in love with her until after she was married and expecting Leif.
And then, after Torstan died, when the boys were only young, she’d asked herself an ugly, terrible question:did I pick the wrong man?If she’d married Bjorn instead, she wouldn’t be a widow. The guilt and revulsion such a thought had inspired in her lingered still, though fainter.
And tonight, Bjorn waslookingat her.
His hair had been tamed with a few slightly-crooked braids, capped with beads of duty, loyalty, friendship: gifts from Erik some years ago. He’d trimmed his beard up short, so the strong line of his neck showed, and his face, though never as fine-featured as Erik or Torstan, held a blunt appeal of its own: his straight brows, and his serious dark eyes, and the unexpected softness of his mouth. A nose that had been broken more than once, and a gaze full of intensity, as he watched her.
Revna felt a tolling shiver, deep inside; a response. She turned and put her back to him, clapped her hands, and called the others forward to decorate the tree with their prayers.
~*~
Aeretoll and Aquitainia worshipped the same gods, though some of the names were different, and a few of the attributed powers. Down South, it was more of a formality, a bit of rote gesturing at certain holidays, and pleas for mercy when men lay dying. Oliver had never been religious – he’d never seen how prayer might improve his situation – and so when Tessa pressed a small, silver fox into his hands and told him he ought to say a prayer before hanging it, he hesitated.
A fox, he noted, recalling Lord Askr’s words from earlier. Tessa hadn’t known about that, but the irony struck him all the same; left him feeling a bit manic, though maybe that was just the wine he’d drunk to keep his hands from shaking.
He smoothed his thumb across the runes etched in the animal’s side. “Pray for what?”
“For whatever you want,” Tessa said. “For luck. That was why” – a sly smile totally out of character touched her mouth, lit up her eyes – “I chose the fox for you. I thought you might be feeling lucky tonight.”
“Tessa Louise,” he chastised, face heating, and she giggled. “That’s highly inappropriate for a young lady such as yourself.”
Still giggling, she reached to touch one of the braids behind his ear, the beads clacking together. “These are lovely.”
