The Einhjorn (The Relics of Asgard)

by Arreana

Away from the fjord, the world was a drier and colder place, and though the breeze howled in the trees, it lacked its usual fragrances of salt and kelp and fish. In the forests of the foothills, the decades-thick blanket of pine needles muffled the garrons’ hooves, and the sun rarely penetrated through the evergreen canopy. Quiet and dark even in the daytime.

  Disa rode behind her prince on the small pony that had been hers since her twelfth birthday. She looked everywhere but at her groom: the dancing shadows, the swaying branches, and the rabbits dashing for their dens. She looked for distractions. She needed to keep her mind off the sores erupting upon her thighs. She didn’t want to acknowledge the party’s tense and increasingly pronounced silence.

  A day passed without rest. The horses moved at a steady trot, and the men seemed not to mind the hard hide saddles or the mist hanging in the smoke-colored skies. They were sullen creatures, but the prince was the sullenest of them all. He hardly spoke a word that was not accompanied by a sneer. To the young lady trailing behind him, he spoke not at all.

  He cast her looks, of course, but they possessed none of the reverence she expected from a man in love. He was troubled, and Disa, so far from home and increasingly uncomfortable on her new saddle, shared his anxieties.

  Each of his looks was an unspoken accusation. Each moment that lapsed in silence was punishment for her betrayal. Her brother’s embrace had killed his gentleness from their first night together. How could he gaze upon her and not see the memory of Hakon’s pursed lips pressed to her ear? It would take her months to regain his trust, mayhaps years. He would take her maidenhood on their wedding night, but he would always worry and always wonder. What unspeakable intimacies had existed between his wife and her brother?

  So Disa couldn’t bring herself to meet the prince’s gaze. She sought refuge instead from her thoughts in the examination of woodland country.

  Birch trees and evergreens. Ferns sprouting from a bed of orange oak leaves. A river purred in the distance but the sound was not like the harshness of the tides that swallowed Hladir’s rocky shore.

  Ahead of them, the mountains emerged from cloudy jackets, and their ghostly tops shone silver in the little light that cut through the damp skies. Their skirts of green collided to form valleys and cliffs and immense hills. A dirt pass cut a brown line between the troughs and dips of the foothills, leading up—ever up—into the snowy peaks above.

  Forgoing all detours, they made directly for the pass. The mountain corridor would lead them straight into the belly of King Harald’s kingdom. Southern Norge, the kingdom her groom would someday inherit. There, Prince Eric’s younger brothers would welcome him home and prepare the Saeheimr court for the marriage to follow.

  What were his brothers like, and what of their wives? Would the prince tell his brothers of how he had found his bride entangled in her brother’s arms? Would the court ladies, like her mother, think her too insipid for a man like the prince?

  A small settlement nestled in the trees marked the boundary between the Trondelag jarldom and the foggy foothills ahead. It was here, amongst the curious stares of the lumbermen and fishermen who made their living on the river, that the prince stopped them for the night.

  He announced himself to the villagers and brought Lady Disa forward as he pled for shelter and food for the night.

  Because the lady was the beloved daughter of their Jarl Sigurd and because the man was the eldest son of King Harald, the settlement’s patriarch turned his whole house over for the prince’s use. His family smiled and blathered as they piled fresh blankets onto the small cot and stocked their tiny hearth with fresh logs. As the family worked inside, his men set about making camp: staking the tents, currying the horses, and building the campfires over which they would prepare their supper of stew and bread.

  Disa, her offers of help rejected by both parties, was left standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the prince. She wrung her riding shawl and locked her gaze to the floorboards. She both anticipated and dreaded the moment she would be alone with him. She did not like having to be quiet and still when she was nervous; she wanted to talk or cook or clean. She wanted her hands to be busy.

  But at last, the patriarch, his wife, and all her young ones bowed their heads and left the prince and his lady to enjoy the modest but cozy dwellings.

  Disa stared at the family bed situated in the corner Would they share it? Surely, he would not let her sleep on the ground, and yet the bed was his by right. Would he want to sleep, or would Disa be expected to perform those duties her mother had outlined the night before? She should have paid more attention.

  “Shall I prepare—?”

  “No, I will eat with my men,” the prince said. “Stay here, get warm. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “But surely you will sleep—”

  “I will sleep with my men,” he insisted. Away from prying eyes, he did not bother to hide his unhappiness. He tugged at his beard and met her gaze with a stare as cold as iron.

  “Did you sleep with him?”

  Astonished by his directness, Disa stumbled back a step. “No!”

  He sighed and for the first time seemed every bit his age. He was born the same year as her father. When she looked close enough, she could make out the slight wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes. “I will not punish you for the truth, my lady. I will leave you in the care of these villagers and send word to your father.”

  “No!” Disa said, more aghast by the suggestion than by the accusation. “Wha—what would father think of you? I ca—can’t have him thinking you took advantage of me!”

  “There is a chance you could not tell the truth for fear of your father.” The prince answered, his eyes no less unfriendly. “I need to know the truth, my lady. It is imperative that I have the truth.”

  The force of his declaration made her feel small. “I have never behaved in a way that would shame my father. Or you.”

  Prince Eric’s eyes narrowed. “Then I will have to take your word. Goodnight, Lady Saldis.”

  He turned to leave, and Disa’s heart sank. This had been her chance to put his suspicions to bed, so how could she let him leave when he still distrusted her?

  “Please, my lord, stay. I shall make you something to eat. We will dry your shoes by the fire.”

  “No, my lady. I am in no mood to play house with you.”

  Disa grimaced. “I only thought it would make you happy.”

  At last. His brow lifted and his jaw relaxed. A flicker of kindness warmed his ocean-colored eyes. “I appreciate your efforts, my lady. It is not that your kindness and loveliness are lost on me, but I cannot stay in your presence without reliving those memories I wish to be forgetting.”

  “What can I do?” Disa said, stepping closer and desperately wishing she could reach out and take his damp sleeve. “I would like you to feel easy again.”

  Prince Eric’s grin wavered as she advanced, and he held up a hand to stall her. “Reverse time. Erase that kiss. But you can’t, and I can’t, so I shall have to learn to trust you.”

  Prince Eric’s words struck more painfully than he had likely intended, but he turned before he could see Disa’s eyes flood with tears. She covered the cursed ear that Hakon had kissed the night before. The skin was dry and hot, but it felt slimy to her, like the algal growth lining the bottom of a tide pool.

  The prince left Disa without a backwards glance. At least she knew where they stood. She knew what he thought of her and what she could do to win back his affection—absolutely nothing.

  She was exhausted. She had barely slept the night before and had ridden all day. Sore and sleepy and limp with regret, she forced herself to the fire and peeled the drenched jacket from her shoulders. She hung her gowns and smocks and socks over the fire and unbraided her hair so it too could dry by the flames.

  The copper kettle hanging over the fire was half empty, and she swung it over the coals with the iron poker. Disa would wash the sweat from her body. She would wash away that ling
ering sensation of her brother’s arms clasped around her… of his lips pressed firmly to her burning ear. She would scrub it all away, change into fresh clothes, and sleep until the prince came for her again. She wanted to be beautiful for him. She wanted to look every part his virginal bride.

  Beauty is why he loved her—why anyone ever loved her—so if her beauty was obscured by grit, she would polish it clean.

  She heated the water to a boil and poured it all into the ceramic washing basin. She did not wait for it to cool before dunking her hands. The water was near hot enough to cook flesh, but only the hottest would do.

  It was not bath day, but she bathed herself as thoroughly as if it was. She scrubbed her chest and thighs and arms until her skin stung and hissed as the hot water trickled down her back. Finally, when her flesh was pink and tingling from all the abuse, she started on her ear. As her mother would scrub a pot, Disa scoured her ear until it was too tender to touch.

  She rinsed herself with the last of the steaming water and then the tears began to flow. The truth was that despite all her effort and determination she felt no different. The prince might deem her cleaner and prettier—the dirt beneath her fingernails was gone, and her hair was shiny and slick—but her ear was still the same. Still tainted.

  Her father would be disappointed, her brother grossly pleased, and her mother unsurprised.

  “I always knew you weren’t good enough for the prince,” she would say when the prince grew tired of Disa. “Now look at you.”

  And Disa did look at herself, at her hands, and at her blistering fingers. Tears fell in earnest as she beat the earthen floor and cursed her brother with all the foul words she knew. Sixteen. She had waited sixteen years to make her family proud. Her brother, her gangly, freckled brother, had ruined it all with his unspeakable crime.

  Chapter Six