“I mean it,” Thane said, quickening his step to catch up. “Who is this woman and what has she done to you?”

She is no one.

Thane chuckled, not believing a single word, but left me to storm away.

16

Lyra

The bedchamber was cavernous compared to my room in Jakobson’s longhouse. Walls stretched with great corner beams etched in runes and symbols of the gods. Ravens and knives and runes.

The inglenook was empty, the fire long dead, and it gave way for cold—crisp and biting—to claw into the room.

I rubbed heat into my arms and went to the window. Below my chamber was a long stable and stacks of straw and feed. The room, for all its grandeur, was simple and dull. Smoky furs and heavy quilts made a bed. Two round, blue shields decorated the wall, and a simple russet woven rug covered the floorboards. There was a sitting chair made of pine boughs and a heavy yarn quilt tossed over the back.

Beyond the bedchamber was a washroom with a clay basin deep enough I could sit inside and stretch my legs. Tepid water filled it nearly to the brim, like I’d been expected.

A thrill quickened my pulse and I dragged my fingers over the smooth edges of the tub. We used wooden pails in the garden back home to wash our skin. Only Jarl Jakobson had basins in his chamber.

Dried petals of lavender and honey blossoms were kept in a jar. Pink and black salts from the seas took others. I popped a cork from a jar filled with powders to cleanse the hair. Selena made something similar but it had a savory scent that made my hair smell like rosemary and cloves. This was like rain on the sea, clean and cool.

A groan broke between my teeth when I sank into the water and took liberties with the different petals and scrubs. The powder lathered into a soapy layer over my long hair. I held my breath and dunked beneath the surface, escaping reality for a moment. Only the sounds of the pulse in my skull, the swirl of water, filled my thoughts.

For a moment I could pretend to be swimming in the Green Fjord with Kael; I could imagine the lap of water was the beat of the sea against Thorian’s boat when he let us go fishing with him.

When I surfaced, I took my time washing off the journey until a chill chased away the warmth and my skin was wrinkled like rotting pomes.

I slipped into a thin night shift folded in the tall wardrobe, then returned to the truth—I was locked in a fine cell.