Page 30 of The Viking in the Vault
“Ancient Skoll not indexed,” Ves explains. “And Elena say…you smash.”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.
I must have seemed like such an ignorant monster to her.
“Davina give money for new,” Ves offers, as if that would help. “And for clothes.” On that, they hold out the stack of clothes they just collected. “Now try.”
I begin to shrug out of my vest, only for Elena to stop me with a hand on my arm, pointing with her other hand toward a curtained off area on the other side of the shop. Ves offers an explanation.
“No naked here.”
I grunt.
With a resigned sigh, I grab the stack of clothes and head toward the curtained-off area, Fenrik on my heels. The space is cramped, barely large enough for me, let alone for both myself and my skarnhound. A large mirror takes up an entire wall, and I catch a glimpse of my reflection for the first time since I woke.
Even after everything, after these thousands of years…I look so much the same. My beard is braided into an intricate pattern courtesy of my mother before the Stormcaller took flight; my hair swept into twisted braids as well, and bedecked with beads given to me by my sisters. The silver ring hanging from my septum still sparkles as if no time has passed at all.
My heart aches.
I try to ignore my reflection as I remove the vest and my trousers, leaving my boots on the floor, then I shrug on the tunic–grey and light, with intricate blue stitching along the lapels and cuffs. This does fit…and I breathe a sigh of relief that I will at least fit into something here.
Next are a pair of trousers that hang from my hips, with cords to tie around my calves. To their credit, Ves has good taste and a good eye for measurements; they carefully selected things that suit me. I can feel the difference in these kinds of garments, too…how they were crafted for comfort rather than roughspun for practicality.
I suppose some things have improved since I went into cryo-sleep.
The boots are the best part, a pair of functional black leather shoes that seem to form to my feet. I let out a sigh of contentment, Fenrik watching from the corner, bored.
“How is it?” Ves calls from outside.
“Good,” I say, gruff and short.
Very good.
Not that I would admit that.
I step out of the dressing area, Fenrik trailing behind me like a shadow. Ves and Elena turn toward me simultaneously, their expressions expectant. Elena’s eyes widen slightly as she takes me in, and for a moment, she says nothing, just stares.
Ves, on the other hand, grins triumphantly.
“Better,” Ves says, nodding in approval. They circle me once, tugging at the tunic’s hem and adjusting the cuffs. “Now you look like you belong here.”
I snort, crossing my arms. “I doubt I will ever belong here.”
Elena clears her throat, drawing my attention. Her cheeks are flushed, but she manages a small, approving smile. She says something to Ves, who laughs and shakes their head.
“What did she say?” I ask.
“She said you look handsome,” Ves says with a smirk.
I resist preening at the approval of my fenvarra.
Ves, oblivious or purposefully ignoring the moment, claps their hands. “Now coat,” they announce, holding up a long, fur-lined garment they must have plucked from one of the racks. “Try this.”
I take the coat from them and drape it over my shoulders. It’s heavier, but functional and designed for mobility. I adjust the collar, appreciating how the hem drapes all the way to my knees.
Elena steps closer, then stands on tip-toes, her fingers brushing against the collar as she adjusts it. Her touch is light, almost hesitant, and it sends a spark of warmth through me. She looks up, meeting my gaze, and I can see the softness in her expression.
“Good,” she says, smiling.
