There's legitimately no good excuse for this but writer's block and total lack of inspiration. I've kinda been depressed lately and I'm STILL looking for a job so that's taken up a lot of my time. So forgive me! Anyway, I hope you like this update. This chapter was such a struggle for me that it is probably still rough around the edges. But thanks for all the comments and good vibes! Hope y'all are doing great.
The looking glass was small and had rough edges, probably cut from a much larger piece. It was showing a milky reflection of the night sky, a melting sliver of moon, a barrage of stars. Dagny tilted it just a bit in her palm and saw her face.
She pocketed the looking glass. It fit perfectly in a pouch on her belt, nestled beside the chess piece Ivar had received from a Saxon prince. Hvitserk said that in Spain, there were whole rooms of mirrors, most of much finer quality than any in Kattegat. They were rare, hard to make, extremely expensive, and this small piece might have fetched a good sum in the market but Hvitserk had given it to her instead.
He'd also given her a fruit. It was orange, thick-skinned, and designed to be eaten in perfect segments. Days had passed and Dagny was still thinking of how good it was.
She finally sat down and leaned against the base of a tree. It was the middle of the night and when she couldn't sleep, her feet led her to the meadow in the forest. Normally it was reserved for training but now, it was peaceful. It was a good time to gather her thoughts, to try to make the correct decisions, which might be impossible to do.
Hvitserk had been waiting at the cabin after the failed attempt on Lagertha's life. His presence immediately lightened Dagny's mood, especially when he did not seem fazed by her newfound freedom. Though the months he had been gone had changed Kattegat, had changed Dagny, Hvitserk was entirely the same. He was lighthearted and genuine and the darkness of Aslaug and Ragnar's deaths did not cast its pallor on him. Dagny found this incredibly refreshing. He was not in the depths of a grief fueled by revenge, such as Ivar, and nor was he some mentor telling Dagny life advice that she most certainly should heed, like Ubbe or Sigurd.
This was why Dagny had always liked Hvitserk, even as a child. There was no pressure. There was no judgment. Frankly, it seemed like nothing affected him at all.
But the day after he returned, he sat beside her at dinner and halfway through the meal, his hand came to rest on her thigh. Dagny felt Ivar's eyes on her, she saw Margrethe stare over the rim of her goblet, as if the both of them could see beneath the table. Hvitserk either didn't notice or didn't care, the latter being the most likely.
So Dagny, who had wanted at least one full day before having an awkward conversation, had to plan how to begin one. She had become skilled in practicing speeches she didn't want to deliver but the mirror in her belt seemed incredibly heavy. He would have given that to her as a slave. And his acceptance of her freedom made Dagny think he must have been considering giving it to her himself. Not for the first time, she regretted being so foolhardy as to immediately concede to Ivar, even if his reasoning did make perfect sense.
After dinner, Hvitserk had asked her on a walk. She agreed. Ubbe nudged her once Hvitserk had his back turned, grinning. It made Dagny actually blush and she elbowed him back. Ubbe laughed but she genuinely thought he was happy for her. He was a better friend than she deserved.
They were barely out of town when Hvitserk kissed her. This was a weakness of Dagny's and she had found it was a particular weakness where Hvitserk was concerned. He had her pushed against a tree before she found the will power to tell him to wait.
Hvitserk leaned back and the light of the moon made him look like the side of a coin, bearing the likeness of an ancient king. His hands, rough and long-fingered, took her own.
"Shall I make you promises?" he'd asked, swarthy in a strange way that jumped between joking and sincere.
"I fear that I have made a promise of my own," she'd replied and Hvitserk's expression fell. Dagny felt her heart fall with it, an odd sinking sensation that almost made her sick.
"To Ivar?"
She nodded. "He asked me to give you up."
"He has no right to tell you what to do, Dagny." Hvitserk dropped her hands to let his own frame her waist. There was a curve to his mouth that she couldn't rightly call a smile. "You are free now," he murmured, leaning into her. "And you can do as you please."
Dagny had wanted to throw her head back and let him kiss her because even if it wasn't love, it was something worth understanding. Perhaps it was just lingering feelings from her childhood, when she'd believed Hvitserk capable of hanging stars in the sky. Perhaps it was just that they'd always gotten along. But she had made her deal with Ivar and it was something she could not go back on.
"I truly care for him, Hvitserk," she'd whispered and it seemed the wrong thing to say. The edge of the forest stilled and his fingers caught in the fabric of her dress. Dagny, for all her normal qualities of being cautious and contemplative, felt impulse want to pull her under. It had won many battles over her sense in the past and she wouldn't let it rule her again.
"Dagny," he'd begun, so unwaveringly serious that it actually put her on edge, "you know what he is like. I'm sure Sigurd has told you what happened with Margrethe."
She'd sighed, beleaguered. "Only a hundred times over." Hvitserk's eyes had gleamed but he never laughed.
"What about marriage? Have you pledged yourself to marry him?"
"No, nothing like that." If Dagny had to hear one more word about marriage, she thought she might go mad.
"Then what does it matter what we do out here?" His grip on her waist had tightened.
"It matters because of loyalty and because you are too easy to like." It was Hvitserk's defining quality, likability, and Dagny feared what it might eventually morph into. Now that she had a made a firm decision, she had no intention of ever finding out.
He'd grinned, lazy and lovely, and it made Dagny's arms want to loop around his neck. "Wait until after the raid and then make your choice."
That had never occurred to her. It was such a simple and easy solution, such a masterful way of skirting an issue, that only Hvitserk could have come up with it. It was a thought that Dagny had returned to many times over the past few days. But an oath was an oath and she'd all but sworn one to Ivar.
The rest of it appeared to slide off of Hvitserk easily, either because he did not care that she had feelings for Ivar or because he believed things would eventually turn in his favor. In fact, he'd laughed about it, smirked, and said conspiratorially, "Only three times? I am worth at least twenty."
He had taken it far better than Dagny might have thought but then, this was how Hvitserk was. Even if it wasn't what he wanted, she doubted he'd ever say as much to her. He was ridiculously accommodating and clearly thought of this all as a competition he might still win. Dagny did not want to rule him out. It was one of the best things about him. Hvitserk cared little about truly winning. He just enjoyed playing the game.
But then yesterday had happened. Dagny and Sigurd did most of the talking at meals, now that Margrethe had moved into the household and Hvitserk had returned. There was an awkwardness between everyone there, except Dagny and Sigurd, who were generally honest about their feelings on one another. Driving a conversation was new to both of them but it was better than silence or descending into a petty fight between Sigurd and Ivar.
"So Dagny somehow managed to best me three times today," Sigurd had begun. Dagny had smiled in response, pride evident in the set of her shoulders and her sudden perfect posture. Sigurd gave out praise on incredibly rare occasions, none of them in front of his brothers or Margrethe, and Dagny wanted to bask in it.
"Really?" Ubbe asked, looking up from his plate in disbelief, more at Sigurd admitting it publically than at Dagny's being able to achieve it.
"Yes, I did," she'd replied.
"Of course, you did," Ivar said beside her. This was a position he rarely relinquished. "I could blindfold you and you would still beat him." Dagny gave him a mischievous look. For some reason, he thought her a fine warrior, when she was rougher than the crew that had taken him to England.
Sigurd had rolled his eyes in signature dramatic fashion. "At least I won't have to constantly keep a watch on her while we are in England."
"England?" Hvitserk had paused, spoon halfway to his mouth. "You're not going to England."
Dagny laughed. "Of course, I'm going. Why do you think I've been practicing?"
"Dagny, I have been training for this my entire life. You have trained for a few months with Ubbe." He gestured at his older brother, as if that summed up the entire argument.
"I'm trying not to take offense at that," Ubbe replied dryly.
Dagny grinned but was still quite baffled. Hvitserk knew that she was training. This was something she figured he must have automatically picked up on, as Ivar had. She even thought he might encourage it, based on things he'd said in the past. But perhaps, it wasn't the training itself that bothered him.
"I appreciate your concern for my life but I will be fine!" Dagny did not miss Ivar's sly smile that he tried to hide behind a goblet. He was getting precisely what he wanted; Hvitserk and Dagny on opposing sides.
"Bjorn will only want seasoned warriors," Hvitserk said.
Ivar had leaned onto the table lazily. Margrethe subconsciously flinched across from him. "And what does Bjorn's opinion matter?"
Hvitserk scoffed. "He is the leader of the great army."
"Is he?" Ivar had asked in a deliberately skeptical tone.
"You think you should be the leader?" Ubbe questioned and it was clear to Dagny that he believed that to be a foolish dream.
Ivar shrugged. "Our father took me to England instead of the rest of you, instead of Bjorn. It is obvious that he wanted me in command. And I think Dagny is ready for it."
This had begun a ceaseless amount of arguing, the main thing that Dagny had been trying to avoid and she wound up standing before Bjorn anyway. The eldest Ragnarsson was at least twice her size and perhaps a head or two taller. As a slave, she'd been scared of him and under the scrutiny of his gaze, she remembered that old fear. She'd been part of a conspiracy to kill his mother. The blood that tied him to Ivar and Ubbe was not present in Dagny. But he did not seem to care.
Bjorn had only looked her up and down twice, as if he could adequately judge her strength or muscle mass in that amount of time. She could tell the whole thing disinterested him. After all, what commander knew all of their warriors by name? What leader let each soldier individually into his army?
He'd asked her if she had experience amputating limbs. Of course, she had. Dagny had seen more blood and bone than most anyone. That was good enough reason for Bjorn Ironside to let her onto a ship.
"We always need a healer," he'd said and it was in a respectful enough tone that Dagny assumed he thought she was quite good at it.
So she would be going to England. Maybe she was more nervous than she thought because she could not sleep. And it had not done her much good to walk into the forest, be alone with her thoughts. It felt more like an ending than the beginning that it was. Dagny sensed that when she left to avenge Ragnar's death that it would be a great deal of time before she returned to her favorite meadow. Maybe she would not return at all.
Leaves crunched along the path and Dagny grabbed the axe at her waist. But it was only Ubbe, apparently on a moonlight walk of his own. Tomorrow was his wedding day. It was no wonder that he could not sleep.
"Dagny?" he murmured, brow furrowed. She was surprised he could make her silhouette out in the dark.
"Yes," she said, standing and brushing herself off. "You cannot sleep either?"
He shook his head in a vaguely self-deprecating manner. "I don't suppose you are awake for the same reason I am."
Dagny took a good, long at him. Ubbe was rarely this way, dark circles under his eyes, hands clenching and unclenching. She knew enough about stress and nerves to recognize it. "Are you having second thoughts about tomorrow, Ubbe?"
He shrugged once he was close enough to her. The moonlight seemed to crack across his fine features. "You don't think marrying Margrethe is a good idea. Why?"
"It's quite a time to finally ask my opinion." Ubbe appeared cowed by that, even looked a tiny bit smaller. "What does it matter now? The wedding is tomorrow evening. I have weaved Margrethe the most beautiful flower crown that I possibly could. And I need the excuse to drink."
She was only half-kidding but it got the intended reaction because he smiled, on the verge of laughter, and it was lovely. "Don't tell me that you now support this."
"I don't," Dagny replied with a grin, "but it's a bit late for me to tell you not to go through with it."
"You could still tell me." He must have been drinking. It would explain some of his manner, his stance, the oddly harrowed look in his clear eyes, the way he was now leaning against a tree beside her.
"Don't go through with it," she murmured, because she hoped he was drunk enough to forget the entire exchange come morning. He gave her a weak smile, something that paled against Ubbe's usual personality.
"You have gotten in my head," he replied. Dagny sighed.
"You've been drinking and you're not thinking clearly, Ubbe." His eyebrows came together in confusion. "Yes, you are not very clever at hiding it."
"It changes nothing."
"Yes, it does. I don't know Margrethe, not truly. Everything I think about her has evolved out of jealousy. But I know you and I know you love her." Ubbe appeared to ponder this and eventually nodded.
"And what of you?" Dagny's skin prickled but there was no chill in the nighttime air.
"What about me?"
"Why are you awake?" She supposed there was no reason to keep it secret so she told him everything, about Ivar wanting her to turn Hvitserk down, in particular. Through all of this, Ubbe only nodded but she could tell he was paying attention. Worse, she could see that he was disappointed, whether for her or for Hvitserk, she did not know.
"And what are Hvitserk's thoughts on the matter?" Ubbe said, arms crossed, still leaning against a tree. Even apparently drunk, he showed no judgment.
"Frankly, he's treated it like he believes it to be a joke," she replied. He nodded in a knowing way. Hvitserk was generally predictable, especially to Ubbe.
"Well, can you fault him that? It certainly sounds like one." Dagny pursed her lips and mirrored him, leaning against another tree at the edge of the meadow.
"You don't think I'm serious?"
"Oh, I believe that you are serious," he conceded, leaning forward a bit unsteadily. "And I can certainly believe that Ivar would ask it of you. I just think it is ridiculous."
"Ridiculous how?"
Ubbe sighed and geared himself up for what Dagny knew would be an excellent persuasive speech, even if he was drunk. "Since we were children, there has been something between you and Hvitserk that is unexplainable. Maybe it is not love now but who is to say what it might become? Marriages have been built on less than what the two of you have. You know each other intimately. There is something to be said for that. And in all honesty, Ivar has no right to control it."
"You would have me laugh off his concerns the way others laughed off what I thought of Margrethe?" The skin around Ubbe's eyes softened, minutely enough that Dagny knew she'd been staring at him. "We are the same in that regard, he and I. It may come to be the wrong decision for me but it's the right thing to do."
"Do you think that if your places were switched, he would do you the same honor?" Ubbe seemed sober now because his gaze was intense and focused and Dagny could feel its burn even in the dark of the night. This was a question she did not care to find out the answer to. It drudged up fears she still felt at times; that Ivar cared little for her personally, that he just enjoyed the attention.
"Well, our places are not switched, thankfully." Ubbe steeled himself. It was a stance that he often got into before dealing a blow not easily recovered from.
"It is none of my business, Dagny, but have you ever told him what happened between us?" She stiffened.
"I have tried more times than I can count and he always manages to change the subject," she admitted.
He sighed again and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, possibly to stave off a headache, possibly to contemplate how idiotic they had both become. "Which means he knows and he's sparing you. It might also explain his reaction to Hvitserk."
"Ubbe, I am so sorry. For dragging you into something of this manner, for asking you to do this in the first place. It has brought us nothing." This was a lie. It had brought Dagny far more than she'd asked for, good and ill.
Ubbe's starry eyes flashed in the dark. "I don't believe that's quite true. And as I've told you before, you did not hold a knife to my throat. You did not force me to do anything. Whatever else comes of it, I have no regrets."
"Nor do I," Dagny said, mostly to keep herself from saying something she shouldn't. Of all the terrible things that Dagny sometimes saw or felt coming, she wished she could find answers to her own life.
"Once we go on raid, everyone will be so distracted that none of this pettiness and jealousy will mean anything." This was true and was a comfort to her, oddly enough.
"But Hvitserk doesn't want me there." She said it to be a joke but frankly, it did bother her. Hvitserk had mentioned to her more times than she could count things about her potentially being a warrior, a shieldmaiden. Now that it was to be true, he disapproved?
"He wants you to think about the mistake you're making." Ubbe arched a brow suggestively and Dagny shook her head at him, grinning. "No but in all seriousness, he does not think you have the stomach for war. I tend to agree with him."
"Well, I can't say that I expect to enjoy it but I should think that I certainly have the stomach for the blood and gore. I've dealt with that my entire life." Ubbe shrugged, still leaning against a tree.
"I doubt he thinks you're a coward. There are some things that he probably doesn't want you to see." Dagny wondered what those things might be. Indeed, for the first time, she began to question just what she was getting herself into. Would the raid end at avenging Ragnar's death? That, in itself, precluded killing two kings. Would she see a side to the brothers she had never imagined? Worse, would she see a side of herself she should be ashamed of?
"You are so pensive, Dagny," Ubbe said, tilting his head to the side.
"Things are changing so it seems all I do is ponder the outcome." He smiled, slow and lazy, reminding her of Hvitserk. At the thought of his name, her stomach felt like it was turning into knots. Dagny knew it was the right thing to do. It was what she had said to herself every day since she'd agreed to it. But it did not make it easy.
"Yes, many things are changing. Dagny the healer is made a shieldmaiden. And I am made a married man." He cast his gaze upwards, as if the constellations in the sky might answer his questions.
"And you will have many children and a large home and a wife who loves you. I am happy you'll be getting what you've wanted." She found that she genuinely meant the words, regardless of her remaining skepticism of Margrethe.
Ubbe cut his eyes back to her. "And will you get those things, Dagny? Do you think Ivar can provide them for you?"
"Don't say anything you will regret come morning, Ubbe," she warned but he would never regret poisoning her to Ivar. He thought them as different as the sun and moon.
"Then I should not be speaking with you at all," he murmured. Dagny smiled weakly because she was familiar with the feeling.
Ubbe's wedding to Margrethe was lovely. Dagny had to admit it. The sky was clear and there was a bough of white and the two of them grinned like there would be no more cares in the world after this day. Although she thought that in the end, this would be a poor union, even Dagny was happy for them.
She'd been involved with getting Margrethe ready for the ceremony. Hemming her gown, tying her into the dress, weaving the crown she wore.
Ivar thought this was a waste of Dagny's precious time. Worse, he seemed to think that Margrethe was manipulating her because she needed a friend. It was true enough that she was smarter than most people credited her for but Margrethe had always seemed nice, if shy. Dagny was tired of thinking ill of her.
Hvitserk reached across her, letting his arm graze her in a way that was too deliberate to be an accident, and filled her glass. He lost the bridal race and now had to serve everyone for the meal. Dagny and Sigurd had been enjoying it the most.
Ivar stiffened beside her and Dagny gave Hvitserk a questioning look. He responded with a shrug and a grin, like they were sharing a joke. Normally, Dagny would have smiled back. But he moved on to doting on Margrethe next and his intentions with her were much the same. And Margrethe, though the woman just married, smiled and carried on with him as if Ubbe was not beside her. Dagny took a long drink of ceremonial wine.
Why did being right have to feel quite so awful?
"Are you a Christian now, Dagny?" Sigurd murmured on her other side, low enough that Ivar did not hear him. "One partner all your life seems the sort of boring idea a Christian would have."
"Do you always sense when I am in a good mood and seek to ruin it, Sigurd?" she replied, pulling meat off the bone with well-placed viciousness. He smiled at her. In his world, this sort of teasing might make them friends.
"I just think it is interesting to see someone ignore their cleverness in favor of a pair of blue eyes." He was drinking out of a goblet now, side-eyeing Dagny in a way that dared her to disagree with him. She glanced at Ivar, who was so consumed in his regular argument about control of the great army with Bjorn that he did not notice her. He was digging a knife into the table, twisting and twisting until the blade wore a small hole in the wood. Dagny imagined, for a moment, being in Bjorn's place, being on the other side of Ivar's anger. She'd known what it felt like for most of her life, in truth. But it was the sort of anger that hid how much he actually liked Dagny. There was no risk to her. She'd never once felt in danger from him. Why should that change?
"One day, Sigurd, the way you speak will put you in trouble that isn't easily gotten out of."
"Are you a witch, Dagny? Like our mother?" She turned back to him. His eyebrows were raised and he was trying hard not to smirk. She supposed they weren't really friends, after all. "If you are, I wouldn't let it be known to Lagertha."
To that, Dagny had no response. Despite his perpetual pestering, she was not in the mood to dress Sigurd down. She often thought they had more in common than initially believed and that it was why they seemed to come against each other so often. In fact, of all the princes, of all the old slaves, Dagny felt that Sigurd was the closest thing she had to a real sibling. There was too much spitefulness in their relationship to be friends and yet, too much sympathy to be enemies.
Hvitserk was still leaning across Margrethe, who was laughing like he was tickling her instead of just whispering something completely inappropriate in her ear. Ubbe was speaking to Torvi, Bjorn's wife, but his shoulders were so tense that it was impossible for him to not be noticing. Sigurd grabbed his goblet and tossed its contents over his shoulder. Dagny felt dots of liquid soak into the shoulder of her red gown.
"My glass is empty!" he said and it dragged Hvitserk out of the haze of Margrethe's spellbinding laughter. Dagny cut her eyes to Sigurd. He responded with the barest nod of his head. She wondered if he'd done it for her or for Ubbe. In the end, it didn't matter.
Ivar's hand came to rest on Dagny's thigh. He wanted to show off. There was an arrogance rolling off of him that Dagny had never seen before. Ivar was the rejected cripple, he was the cruel brother. People either pitied him or wished him dead. And rarely before Ragnar returned, had Ivar been given anything he truly wanted.
He cocked his head to the side. "What are you thinking?" he asked.
"I'm wondering how it feels to get everything you've wanted," she replied and covered his hand with her own.
"I don't have everything I want." His free hand went to the back of her neck, the line of her gown. It was no different from what Ubbe and Margrethe were now doing, leaning into each other, kissing, but there was something to this touch that felt far more elicit than that.
"I know you will get the army," she murmured, even as she thought she shouldn't encourage him. "Not now but soon enough."
"Have you seen it?" His fingers were now tracing the skin of her neck with a rare softness. It made a chill snake down Dagny's spine, take root in her bones.
"Perhaps I have," she replied. Ivar smirked and leaned in close, his mouth to her ear. Dagny noticed how Sigurd stiffened at her side, how Hvitserk was deliberately looking away from her.
"What payment do you want, seeress?" Ivar hissed. His voice was payment enough, she wanted to say. His fingers digging into her inner thigh were enough.
She turned and kissed him. His hand tightened at the back of her neck and when he finally pulled away, Dagny was pleased at how the air in the room had changed. At how hopefully this reordered what most thought of Ivar, what most thought of her. She wasn't coerced or persuaded. She wanted him.
The wedding feast finally dwindled down and Dagny made to leave. It would be empty in the cabin because Sigurd was speaking to a multitude of people, any one of which he might take to bed, and since it was a wedding, it stood to reason that Hvitserk would make it a long night also. It would just be her and Ivar. Dagny said nothing once the thought occurred to her. She just felt jittery, hands shaking and knee pumping up and down beneath the table. But nothing would happen. She needed the sleep more than anyone else here because she was going to be involved in the sacrifice tomorrow with Lagertha. When the new queen had asked her, Dagny wanted to outright refuse but it was for the benefit of avenging Ragnar's death and the safety of their journey. And it had humbled Lagertha to ask a former slave to join her. She knew she would not appear legitimate without some continuity and Dagny had been a part of every sacrifice Aslaug conducted.
"Dagny," Margrethe started, distracting her from her thoughts. She was across the table, both hands ensnared by Ubbe's. "Would you mind helping me get ready?" And then she smiled, as though she saw through Dagny and knew how much she disapproved.
"Of course," Dagny replied, oddly nervous. But Margrethe's dress was a puzzle. It seemed entirely composed of small ties and ribbons, a beautiful gift that would take far too long to unwrap. Still, this felt more like a challenge than asking a favor.
"I'll help you, Ubbe," Hvitserk said quickly. Ubbe, who had been surprisingly quiet the entire night, just shrugged. Dagny doubted his tunic was the riddle that Margrethe's gown was. But she felt strangely grateful that Hvitserk would be going with her.
Ivar took her by the arm when she stood and while everyone else was still talking animatedly, he said, "She wants to show that she is better than you and that she has everything you don't."
"I don't want anything she has," Dagny responded, glad that Ivar had picked up on the same things she had.
"Good," he said with a smile that might have better belonged on a wolf. "Then she cannot get beneath your skin."
Dagny and Hvitserk followed Ubbe and Margrethe to their new cottage. Dagny could concede that it was decent of Lagertha to allow them that but then, the new queen liked Ubbe best of all Aslaug's sons.
Kattegat was silent, except for Margrethe's excessive giggling. The street quieted their steps and their voices and the moon was high and bright. She turned to look at Hvitserk once. Moonlight was more beautiful than the sun and it painted Hvitserk silver. His hair even appeared white. I'm sorry, she wanted to say. You deserve better than all this.
"Why are you looking at me?" he murmured finally. A ways ahead, Margrethe and Ubbe were whispering heatedly.
"I was just thinking that I understand if you don't wish to be my friend," Dagny said, the words feeling like cutting off a limb. "I have done you wrong."
Hvitserk shrugged, his hand scratching at the back of his neck. "Of course, I do not want to be your friend." Dagny cut her eyes at him, something heavy seeming to settle on her chest. "I've never wanted to be your friend. But I think you'll be a good one."
"You don't mean that," she said, even though she desperately wished it were true. "I've betrayed you."
"You are too hard on yourself. We were children and after this summer, we are children no more. There is nothing you could do to turn me against you." Dagny waited for the drop in her stomach, the change in the air, that might signify how that would change but she, thankfully, felt nothing. In fact, she felt better than she had in a while.
Upon reaching the cottage, Dagny set to helping Margrethe undress. She waited for the other girl to say something, to say anything, but she was quiet. It was an unnerving silence as it did not seem to come from Margrethe's meekness or any anxiousness. By contrast, Hvitserk and Ubbe were talking loudly, smiling and clapping each other on the shoulder. Dagny bent down and untied another ribbon.
"I'd like you to stay tonight," Margrethe finally said. The cabin went so silent that Dagny could swear she heard an owl in the forest making a kill. She stood and Margrethe turned, her gown loose enough in the back to bare her skin.
"What?" Ubbe asked. "Who do you mean?"
"Hvitserk, of course," she replied and walked away from Dagny. She knew what that meant. It had happened so many times as a slave that it was something Dagny would never forget. She'd been dismissed. Dismissed by a woman who was not so long ago a slave herself. It took the breath out of her. "You know I care for him as well."
Ubbe's eyes met Dagny's and he must have felt the same shock that went through her because his face was suddenly leeched of color. Finally, she looked to Hvitserk, whose hungry eyes were devouring every inch of skin of Margrethe's that had just been revealed.
Dagny knew flaunting power when she saw it. Margrethe had power over everyone in this room and for someone who that was new to, it was difficult not to enjoy it. Ubbe would say nothing because he was kind and understanding and if he loved you, he would do as you wished. Dagny could say nothing. And Hvitserk, as always, would fall prey to desire. Margrethe would have them both in a night just to show Dagny that she could. This was revenge against her for all those months ago, when Dagny had implored her to be kind to Ivar, when Dagny had shut the door to Ubbe's room and she had seen it.
And to Hvitserk, this was nothing. It was a boundary that Sigurd, for all his faults, would never cross. But Hvitserk would do it because to him, there were no lines. Because Margrethe had asked it of him and so it was a decision made. Hvitserk was at times incapable of making a choice but there were some people who he'd listen to. Bjorn, Ubbe, maybe even Dagny. She wondered if she should say something to spare both her and Ubbe the pain but then she considered Hvitserk in his own right. She'd rejected him the moment he came home. He deserved to do what he wanted and maybe that was why Ubbe said nothing. Worse was the thought that, perhaps, Ubbe simply didn't care.
Margrethe turned back to Dagny, as if surprised she was still there, and for a moment, Dagny was appalled that she'd ever said anything in defense of her to Asdis and Dotta and the others. She could not believe that she was once worried if Margrethe was coerced or forced to be with the princes. How foolish was she to think they were becoming friends. How could she have been so blind as to not see her as she was in this moment? Indeed, she thought Margrethe appeared mad.
Ivar would bask in being right but it just made Dagny feel ill.
"I'm flattered," Hvitserk said, voice heady. Dagny and Ubbe's eyes met again, willing victims still hoping to be saved. "But I must decline. You and Ubbe should have this night to yourselves."
Margrethe took the rejection diplomatically and Ubbe looked strangely noncommittal, as if he didn't mind either outcome. Dagny thought back to the night before, of Ubbe's nerves and heavy eyes, and things she should have said to him under cover of darkness and the company of the moon. It was too late.
Hvitserk extended a hand, like Dagny was drowning in the sea and this might be her only hope at being saved. She took it and hated that his fingers were warm and his grip was tight. She left the cottage thinking she should have said something, that she was wise to Margrethe, that Ubbe would be fine, but anything would have made the situation worse. Suddenly, she was outside, her fingers still linked through Hvitserk's.
"Why'd you do that?" she murmured, pulling her hand back. She forced herself to overlook the way his gaze fell to the ground, surprised and disappointed by a blow he knew was coming.
He shrugged.
"I could see that you wanted her and you and Ubbe both say that sharing does not matter to you. That you don't feel jealousy."
He met her eyes. "I don't feel that, Dagny, but you do. I saw your face, like a doe that has spotted her hunter. And I am no fool. I could tell that that was just one battle in your long war against Margrethe. I don't care to be used so I decided to spare us both the misery."
Dagny was glad of the dark because she could feel her throat closing up, her eyes starting to burn, and she didn't truly know why. "Thank you," she said and Hvitserk leaned closer, too close for it to be safe. His brow rumpled as he tried to think of what to say. Dagny's pulse spiked. She didn't know what he could say that wouldn't weigh on her.
Instead he gave her a watered-down smile and put his hand on her shoulder, as if wanting to keep her at arm's length. "I'll see you at the sacrifice, Dagny."
She nodded back but still felt oddly sickened as she watched him walk down the path. She remembered the sacrifice before he left with Bjorn, when he'd painted her face red with stag's blood and kissed her in the great hall, and she wanted to grieve the fact that that was done. But more things were to come, things that were assured to be much greater than anything that had happened while she was a slave. So Dagny took a few well-paced deep breaths, felt her heart stop its wretched pounding, and walked back to her cabin with a confidence she didn't fully feel. The past was over. In two days time, she would be in England and there was much to look forward to.