.: Þrír Tigir ok Þrír :.

Though I've had plenty of reason to be nervous since I arrived in the woods on the mountain, almost none of that has come close to the nervousness I feel today.

It's silly, beyond silly really, but I can't help it. Today, we are venturing outside of the house and into the village. For the first time, I will interact with more than Edvard's family or Tove's family. I will be amongst complete strangers.

Tove helps me dress, making sure my hair is clean and combed back carefully. She offers me brooches to pin to my apron straps that I've seen her mother wearing. Eydís wore them on occasion, but often she used simple pins instead.

When I'm fully dressed, Tove looks me over, offering me a bright smile. "You are beautiful," she says, reaching out to adjust one strand of hair that refuses to stay behind my ear.

I smile nervously at her.

"I'm…" I don't know the word for nervous in her language, so I squish my face up, hoping she'll get it.

She laughs and nods.

"It is not so bad. Our chieftain is kind and fair. This is a good place."

I lick my lips and nod, trying to quell the butterflies inside me.

"Are you ready?"

I look up at Sigurð, who is holding Halvard in her arms. "I don't see the purpose of parading her in front of men when we are to leave this place so shortly." She huffs.

Tove ignores her mother's tone.

"Because, Mama," she says, glancing over her shoulder to look at her mother. "Bella is beautiful, and she deserves to know her choices."

"Wait, I thought we were going to secure food trades for the journey," I cut in. Sigurð rolls her eyes and Tove turns back to me giggling.

"We are. Can we not do both?"

"What point is there? This girl has her eyes for one and only one," Sigurð says, settling onto a bench with Halvard.

Tove waves her off. "Only because she hasn't met anyone else," she argues. She looks at me. "Trust me, there are very fine men in our village. Perhaps you will have several to consider," she says, an impish smile on her face.

"Uh, no Sigurð is right," I start to say. Tove ignores me and spins away, pulling a fur around her shoulders.

"Are you ready to depart?"

I look at Sigurð helplessly. She rolls her eyes.

"Go," she tells me. "And remember, no one is good enough for you. It is your choice." Her tone is firm, almost harsh, and were it not for her encouraging words, I'd worry she was mad at me.

I give her a thin smile before taking a deep breath and following Tove outside of the house.

The family lives on the edge of the village, closest to the mountain. It's a beautiful sunny day out, and Tove winds her arm through mine, sighing happily.

"What a good day it is," she says, tilting her face to the sky. I look up and nod.

"It's beautiful," I murmur.

She looks down, turning to me.

"You sound heavy-hearted," she says, one eyebrow rising.

I shake my head. "I'm not…" I hesitate. "I just…" I look at her. "I guess I miss my family. My other family."

Tove's eyebrow rises higher. "Your first family?"

She doesn't know where I've come from. No one does. Back when I first got here, I couldn't tell them, and by the time we learned how to communicate, I'd managed to put the topic off. It seemed no one really wanted to know because it was hardly brought up.

"No, Eydís and Rúna and…" I glance at her. "Everyone."

A bright smile spreads over her face. "Edvard," she says, her voice light and teasing.

I'm almost too warm between the sun and my blush. I look down at the ground, trying to hide from her.

Tove's silvery laugh dances through the air.

"Bella, it is not so strange," she says lightly. "He is very handsome and very kind. He would make a good husband."

I glance at her, feeling anxious to be talking about this but also desperate to keep talking about it.

"He makes me feel…" I try to find the word, and beside me, Tove is patient as she waits. "Strong," I say finally. "He makes me feel strong."

She leans into me gently. "Bella, you are strong," she says, squeezing my arm. "But I understand. Egil makes me strong too."

I look up at her. "How long have you been married?"

Tove grins as she squeezes my arm again. "Five summers past."

I'm surprised. Tove doesn't look old; in fact, she looks hardly older than me.

"Tove, how old are you?"

She looks surprised at my question, her blue eyes widening. "Twenty summers."

I gap at her. "You were married at fifteen?"

She nods. "We wanted to wed the summer before, but my father decided to wait until Egil could offer the right mundr."

I shake my head. "I don't know that word."

She looks at me in surprise before focusing on the road ahead of us. I watch her expressive face as she tries to describe it. "It is the price that is paid by Egil. Edvard or any other suitor will offer one for you too."

"But why?" I don't know much about dowries, but in my limited knowledge, I thought it went the other way, that the bride's family provided wealth to the new husband.

"Why?" Tove asks, laughing over the word. "Bella, we do not send our women to be men's wives without any sort of support. They have wealth, and if the man is unjust to his woman, she can leave him, taking her wealth back to her family."

I gape at her. "You can divorce?" I ask in English. I can't ask in her language because up until right now, I didn't think such a thing was even remotely possible.

Tove shrugs. "I told you, Bella. Our women are strong and we support them."

I'm floored by this revelation, and I'm so caught up thinking about it that it takes me a few minutes to really process that we've arrived in the village. The houses are simple in their construction and, generally speaking, look similar to each other, though some have fenced pens with animals stacked inside, and some have small patches of land where crops are growing.

Now that I'm not hyper focused on our conversation, I'm acutely aware of all the people staring at me.

Tove doesn't seem fazed by the attention, and in fact, she shakes her hair out, flashing her golden strands in the sun and drawing more attention to us.

I want to crawl under a rock.

It's only Tove's firm grasp on my arm that keeps me steady as we march forward.

"Chin up, Bella," she says, gently jabbing me in the side. "You are Bella Egildottír and you do not cower."

I feel my spine straightening as she says this, and I roll out my shoulders. She's right. I've conquered more terrifying tasks in the last few months alone.

The attention of strangers is nothing.

Tove grins at me. "There you are," she encourages. "Hold your head high and show them that you are a woman to respect."

I let Tove's words rush through me, fueling my confidence until I'm feeling next to invincible.

I can do this—I'm strong and capable and desirable, and I have the power. The power of yes and the power of no.

No one can touch me without my consent. No one would dare.

A mantra forms in my mind, one that surprisingly isn't in English.

Ek em fagr, ek em mikill, eiga vald.

I am beautiful. I am strong. I have the power.