How did one pack away a woman’s life?
One trunk at a time, apparently.
Sigurd attended to the task alone, though several times Bryn’s shield maidens offered their assistance. The truth was, he needed the solitude. Craved it. With the king and his entourage gone from the castle, he could grieve openly and vent his frustrations with physical work.
A quiet knock sounded on the open door.
“A moment of your time, Sigurd?”
“Yes?” He rose from the chair and turned to face Lagertha. She entered, carrying a large sword resting on her shoulder and an envelope in her hand. He wondered what the shield maidens would do without their queen, then imagined they would go on to serve their king until he took another wife.
As if Bryn could be replaced.
As if there were another woman who could hold a candle to her.
“I…” Lagertha drew in a deep breath and offered the wax-sealed letter to him. “We need to speak. Our queen tasked me with presenting this to you in the event of her demise.”
Sigurd took the envelope. Bryn’s neat, looping handwriting decorated the front with a single word. His old name. A name he hadn’t used in over a year, but sorely missed at times. He cracked the wax and drew out the folded parchment.
Dearest Camden,
You have only been a part of our kingdom for a short while, but already I know you to be a man of profound honor, and I am fortunate to call you friend, not thrall.
Day after day, I have wished we could have met under different circumstances, perhaps even as different people. But that would be wrong. Many times over the past months, I have rewritten this letter, knowing fate or battle could take me at any time. But today I realize no other version of you could hold a candle to the man I know now. Your honor, your integrity, and your compassion for all beings are traits I wish were nurtured in Ridaeron men. I know it never changes.
I admire many things about you, Camden. Yes, I use your true name. We may have named you Sigurd, but you will always be Camden, a son of Eisland. If you are reading this, I am gone. I know not how, but I hope I died with dignity in the heat of battle and ride with the Valkyries to Valhalla. I cherish every moment of our friendship. You made me a better woman and a better queen.
Brynhildr
“There is more,” Lagertha said.
Sigurd shuffled the sheet of paper to read the next slip.
On the day of my death, I, High Queen Brynhildr, do release Sigurd from service and award him the title of hauld. All that was mine is to be passed into his possession. May he prosper in his new life.
I sign this under no duress with trusted housecarl Lagertha and Lawspeaker Calder as my witnesses.
“She set me free,” he breathed.
“She did. Brynhildr always hoped to release you herself one day, but she feared it would…not be safe for you.”
“And now?”
The shield maiden shrugged. “And now you have earned the respect of many. Perhaps the road will be good to you. Maybe it won’t. But you are a wealthy man with power now, Hauld Sigurd. I can do nothing more than fulfill my queen’s final orders, and that is to set you free. Go with honor, friend.”
“The king—”
“Will have no option other than to heed her wishes. Another letter will have reached Lawspeaker Calder shortly after her death. He will read it before she is interred, and all the drottin in attendance will know her final wishes.”
“She had it all planned. Even at the end she’s protecting me.”
“She cared for you,” Lagertha said in a soft voice. “Our Brynhildr saw something extraordinary in your heart and soul. She took you not for a thrall, but a friend. I know what she did for you and for your sister.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew. Brynhildr told me everything. I poured the sleeping draught into the stew. She and I were good friends long before the king chose her for a bride.” The shield maiden snorted in disgust. “For years, I have trained her women for war. For the past month, I thought we were to fight against our own kingdom. And now, I loathe the thought of serving that worthless swine.”
“As do I. Her death was no coincidence, and it wasn’t my country.”
“Of course it wasn’t your country,” she agreed readily, startling him. “I have heard stories of your queen. People do not change.”
“Our king did.”
“Did you not tell Brynhildr that your king was ruled by a foul sorceress named Gothel? That this woman usurped the throne?”
“I did.”
“Then he is not to blame if he had no control over his actions or thoughts.”
“I…” He swallowed and dipped his chin. “I suppose you’re right.”
“People do not change without reason, Sigurd. They merely hide who they are from the beginning. If they change, there is deep and dark influence. I fear our king has always been the person we see now. Self-serving. He killed our Brynhildr. Perhaps he did love her once, but in the end, he sacrificed her like cattle.”
“How do we prove it?”
“I don’t know.” She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I’m not certain we can. I think the best course of action would be for you to leave this place and never look back.”
“Leave? Where would I go?”
“You are a hauld now; a man of means. You can begin a new life in Ridaeron, or leave our shores and return home. Whatever path you choose, Bryn would wish for you to be happy. And that is why I have one final gift for you from her. This.”
On two hands, she offered him the gleaming sword. It was as ornate and beautiful as any piece of weaponry he’d seen since his arrival on their shores, accents of gold on its hilt and sigils engraved down its blade. He tried to read them but could not, the language older than modern Ridaeron.
“I don’t understand. She left a sword for me?”
“Yes. It is her familial blade. Her mother, Frú Astrid of Koldgrun, daughter of Jarl Torsten of Ravnklint, once held this blade, and her great-grandfather before him carried it. Bryn did not use it in battle, as she chose the life of a shield maiden. This weapon has passed through a dozen generations, and come to you, Sigurd, as Bryn had no heirs.”
“I don’t understand why she would leave this to me. I’m not her family. You’re her family, I’m just—”
“It would be wasted in my hands, and she knew that. But perhaps in yours, it will make new legends.” Lagertha squeezed his shoulder again. “Family is who one makes it. Now, farewell, friend. May the road be kind to you in future days.”
Chapter 5
A bracing salt-tinged breeze rushed over Sigurd, ruffling his hair. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, welcoming the familiar scents of the sea. He’d missed it more than he’d realized. Missed the sway of the ocean waves and the creak of sails in the wind.
“Looking for a ship, my lord?”
He opened his eyes and turned toward the voice. An older man stood on the gangplank of the nearest ship, arms folded across his broad chest.