You cannot choose who you love. It was Darcey’s voice and it took Sibba back immediately to that night in the longhouse not long before they’d left for Ey. Darcey had pressed her only daughter to her chest, stroked her hair and murmured into her ear. And if they don’t choose you, it doesn’t just go away. Love is selfless and flawed and painful, but worst of all, it is enduring. When the pain passes, you will wish her nothing but happiness, because your love for her endures.
Sibba had been backing away without realizing it and now paused in her retreat. The last thing she wanted was a connection to Ottar, but it didn't have to be that, did it? Estrid had chosen a sword trial; maybe she had found a champion, someone to fight for her. While she had never been good with a sword, Estrid had been good at talking people into doing things for her. Her words were her weapons, her bright red smile her killing blow. Sibba could go, make sure she was okay, and then?
Then she would speak to her father and leave.
Her mother had been the only reason she hadn't gone sooner, and without her, there was no reason for Sibba to stay. Nothing and no one would be able to hold her back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sibba
What had Estrid been thinking?
Ari stood in the middle of the shield circle, the sword in his hand nearly as tall as he was, the tip brushing the ground since he was apparently unable to support its weight. Where had he gotten the sword anyway? It certainly wasn't his. She had never known him to own a sword, only hide behind hers. It was probably a loaner from one of the warriors who had joined the shield circle. One of the warriors who would, if Ari tried to escape, push him back into the brawl. Some towns, mostly those in the neighboring Grimsson territory, had fighting pits where trials and holmgangs, or honor duels, took place, but here, it was up to the warriors to keep the fight contained, and it wasn’t a job they disliked.
“You’re supposed to poke him with it!” someone called.
“That’s what got him into this mess in the first place!” someone else responded. The crowd guffawed and shrieked, taunting Ari whose cheeks flushed a bright pink, and not from the cold.
Sibba rose to the tips of her toes to see through the wall of bodies, and easily picked out her father who stood at least a head over any man around him. She felt nothing looking at him. The resemblance between them was obvious—their size, the same long nose, their faces twisted into the same scowl. His long, yellow hair, going white around the temples, was pulled back into a tight bun while hers was twisted and pinned, the choppy layers escaping from the short braids. But in spite of their similarities—in spite of the fact that he had fathered her and she had spent twelve years of her life under his roof—she felt only indifference at seeing him.
Beside him stood a girl in a plain brown smock dress, but she was the type who didn't need fancy clothes or silver baubles to be beautiful. In the last five years, Estrid had changed little except that she was taller and filled out the dress with well-rounded curves that had not been there before. Her black hair was intricately braided in the fashion of a wedded woman and held up off of her back with bejeweled pins. Tears streaked down her face but they made her no less beautiful.
It was apparent that Sibba wasn’t the only one awestruck by her. A gaggle of young men surrounded her. They were not part of the shield circle but warriors who had wanted to stand for her in the trial. But Estrid was oblivious to them all. She had eyes only for Ari.
Damn it, Estrid, Sibba thought.
The sound of ringing metal drew her attention back to the fighters. Ari she knew, of course. He was still small and too pretty for a man, his red hair in a long braid down his back. The other man, the one with the clear advantage, was not so pretty.
Sibba sucked on her bottom lip and bit it until it hurt to keep from cursing aloud and drawing attention to herself. So, Estrid had married Vyion, one of the chief's traders. He was a beast of a man, easily twenty years their senior, with a belly that entered a room several steps before he did. Sibba did not remember much about him except the way his eyes followed any girl that had the misfortune of being in the same room as him. Even fully dressed, he had always had a way of making her feel naked. Why had Estrid married him when she could have had her pick of any man—or woman for that matter—in Ottar? Had she changed so much that she would marry someone simply for wealth? So she could wear pretty jewels in her hair?
Vyion was toying with Ari. Wearing him down, running him ragged. And Ari was falling for it, dancing around Vyion's blade like a fool. Vyion drove him backward into the shield barricade, and the warriors there thrust Ari forward. As he slipped past Vyion, the bigger man smacked the flat of his blade against Ari's haunches. Ari scurried away like a kicked puppy.
After a couple of light, teasing jabs, Vyion's face went rigid and he struck hard. He didn’t move fast, but he was strong. Ari blocked it with his own blade, the force bringing him to his knees. Everyone tensed, leaning forward to see what would happen next. The men and women in the circle began to beat on their shields with axes and fists. If Ari was defeated, then it would be seen as judgment by Domaris, goddess of justice, and Estrid would be killed. Vyion raised his blade. Ari scrambled to stand, but it was obvious that he wouldn't be quick enough.
Sibba shoved her way past the warriors nearest to her, knocking through the shields and into the circle. So much for not getting involved.
“Stop!” she shouted loud enough to be heard over the chanting. From the corner of her eye, she saw the sutvithr tree's branches rustle. Then, just as the crowd finally quieted, Aeris let out a high-pitched scream as if punctuating Sibba's words, or shouting a warning, Sibba wasn't sure.
The surprise on Thorvald's face was brief, replaced immediately by a sly smile. “Well!” he shouted, spreading his arms wide. “Sibba. It seems you've come home just in time.”
? ? ?
Vyion laughed and that was perhaps his first mistake. Luckily, he was the only one. The rest of the crowd fell silent, all eyes on the chief's lost daughter. How many of them remembered her friendship with Estrid? How many of them remembered how Sibba had humiliated herself?
“You want to fight me?” Vyion scoffed. His linen shirt was soaked through with sweat in spite of the cold. He wore no armor, not even a leather jerkin, and Sibba suspected it was because he could not fit into it. The only protection he had was an iron half-helm shoved onto his meaty head.
“Sibba?” Estrid spoke for the first time, but Sibba couldn't meet her eyes. The girl's voice was timid but carried with it a warning note.
Instead, Sibba looked only at her father, keeping her back to Vyion to show that he was no threat to her. Aeris was perched on a branch just above the chief, her head to the side so that one eye was on Sibba. “I claim responsibility for Estrid Fogthorn,” she said, her voice loud so that all could hear. So that all could mock her later.