Mistress of the Wind (11 page)

“Strange how?” Astrid asked, her voice hushed.

“It was contained in the clearing, blowing nowhere else. There was not even the smallest breath of wind before I got there, and this breeze seemed to touch me. Touch you. Like it had fingers.”

Astrid’s heart beat faster, she struggled to keep calm. Her gaze never left her mother’s face.

“I hardly noticed the breeze at the time, I only thought about it later. What held my attention was the dead body on the ground. An old hag. Ugly beyond description, and towering over her, without a doubt the killer, was a troll. A female troll.”

“What did she look like?” Astrid whispered.

“Like a gnarled old tree, but massive, much taller than Tomas is now, at least half a length taller than him. She was looking at the dead hag with fury. She lifted her foot and kicked the lifeless body.”

Her mother paused, and looked out the window again.

“Go on, Mother. Please.”

“When she kicked the body, I heard the child cry again, and I finally saw a small boy. Not Tomas, a bit older than him. He stood a little way from the troll, out of the sunlight. He was dressed in very fine clothes and . . . well, he was the most beautiful child I had ever seen. Like the child of Frey himself.”

“‘You will not tell your father this,’” the troll snarled at him, his cry reminding her he was there, it seemed to me.

‘You killed her, and you are not beautiful,’ the boy said, in that clear way children have. ‘I
will
tell Father.’ And when he said that, the troll grabbed him up by the throat. She meant to kill him too, I could see that. And I couldn’t let it happen.

“I stepped forward and the troll saw me and lowered the boy.

‘Be gone,’ she shouted, but I did not go. I stepped closer to her, so the body of the hag was all that lay between us.

‘Don’t kill the child,’ I said to her.

‘You cannot stop me,’ she replied, and she was right. I’d endangered us both by trying to save him, and I could see how strong and cruel she was. I had no hope of stopping her.”

Astrid could see it all clear in her mind, and she wondered if it was her mother’s evocative storytelling, or an actual memory that made her feel as if she were reliving the scene.

“You suddenly drew in your breath, Astrid, like a gasp, and for a moment I thought you were having some kind of fit. But then you struggled out of my arms, your eyes on the boy, and I couldn’t blame you. He was mesmerizing. I couldn’t allow him to be harmed. I think you spoke with him, holding out your hand for him to take, but I was too busy with the troll. Begging her to have mercy on an innocent child. And she looked down at the hag and nodded.

‘You’re right. He’s more valuable alive. This Jotun wanted him, after all. That has to mean something.’”

Her mother looked at Astrid, her eyes grave. “I had no idea what she meant, but I murmured my agreement.

‘Your father will not believe you, anyway,’ she said to the boy, and frowned because you and he were caught up in each other, sitting talking quietly as if you were playing without a care. As if there wasn’t a dead body and a murderous troll right next to you.”

“I had done what I could, and from the way she looked at you, with such a scowl, I suddenly realized the danger I had put you in. So I scooped you up, and began backing away. The boy cried out as I pulled you apart, and I could hear his sobs for you even when we were halfway home. You were crying to, but worse, that strange wind seemed to follow us, a small whirlwind with us in its eye. I was calling frantically for Tomas, and when we got home, of course, there he was, playing outside the house and asking us where we’d been.”

She leaned forward on her elbows. “The wind did not leave you for a day or two. Even in the house there was a little breeze that surrounded you. But it went away eventually.”

“And that’s why Father treats me as he does?” She spoke slowly, trying to work it out.

“Because when you were old enough to talk properly, you kept saying the wind was your friend, that it spoke to you. And the weather was colder. From that moment in the forest onward, we have not managed with the crops, the summers are too short.”

“He blames me for the weather?” Outrage filled her.

“I think he does. He said that whenever he gave you a hiding, deserved or not, the wind would blow pine needles and sharp sticks in his eyes. That when he shouted at you outdoors, as soon as your back was turned he would get a mouthful of sand.”

Astrid frowned. “And he never told me?”

“He thought you knew. He thought you arranged it.”

She shook her head. “Although if I thought it possible to command the wind, I may have.” It was true. She’d wished worse than a mouthful of sand on her father in the past. But a mouthful of sand was certainly better than nothing.

No wonder the animosity between them had been never-ending.

“Well, perhaps you can set matters straight with him. You never know when the Bear will allow you back here again. Do not leave feeling as you do toward your father, Astrid, you’ll regret it.”

“I don’t think I will,” Astrid said, and looked out the window again. She rose as she saw Bets riding with Tomas, and just behind them, the horse and cart carrying Freja, Eric and Father.

At the look on her father’s face, a shiver of fear ran through her, despite herself.

He was beside himself with rage.

* * *

“Bets, I have missed you.” Astrid breathed in the smell of new wool and lavender on her sister and held her close.

“Be careful. They are afraid you have been found wanting. That your bride price is expected returned,” Bets murmured in her ear. “I would rather starve with you than feast without you, Astrid. I hope you
are
returned.”

“I am not,” Astrid stepped back, and nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She had killed a troll, helped defeat an yggren, but she was afraid of her father still. Too long under his power and too many times the loser in their battle of wills made it an automatic reaction.

“Astrid.” Her father jumped from the cart, and Astrid saw Freja bite her lip. Conflicted between her own comfort and the brutality that was exercised in getting it.

Choose a side, Freja,
Astrid thought.
You are less a person for wringing your hands while you watch me beaten down.

For some reason, the thought steadied her. Bear was here somewhere, Tomas had promised to keep her safe, and she commanded the wind. She was not an easy target any more.

“Father.” She bowed slightly. Formally. A princess greeting her subject, she suddenly thought, and had to fight the smile that tried to claim her lips.

“Why are you back?” He took a step toward her, and everything about him was threatening.

“Did Tomas not tell you?” She saw Tomas had come to a stop halfway between Father and Eric and herself. Freja still sat in the cart, distanced from the action. Refusing to greet her, refusing to stand with Father and Eric.

“He said you would explain.”

Astrid shot Tomas a sharp look, and he had the grace to look uncomfortable. His pique at her happiness with Bear was unworthy of him. Did he
want
her to be miserable?

“Why do you think I am back, Father?”

Her father hesitated, and she saw his eyes take in her proud appearance; the fine green wool of her dress, the beadwork at the neck like rays of light, glistening gold in the autumn sun.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder impatiently, and saw his eyes narrow. The movement was too confident, too defiant, for him to resist falling back into his old ways.

“You were always too contrary, Astrid. He’s thrown you out. Well, I will not take you back. I have already spent some of the gold, and I’m not giving back any of it.”

“You would throw her out? Alone and defenseless, with winter coming?” Tomas’s voice was hard. She had never heard him use that tone with Father before.

“I’m sure her enchanted bear has taught her a few tricks that should help her find a bed, at the very least.” Eric’s words were crude and hurtful, and Astrid gaped at him. Saw Freja’s hand go to cover her mouth in shock.

Bets made a sound behind her, and even Father turned to look at Eric. When he turned back to face her, she saw the shame in his eyes. But his greed overcame it.

“As Eric says. She will find someone willing to take her in.”

“Isn’t it lucky I don’t need to?” Astrid spoke with a roaring in her ears, her vision narrowing to just Father and Eric. “Finding a place to sleep by working on my back won’t be necessary.”

That they would disown her had never occurred to her. That they could all but sell her and then refuse her welcome, was beyond what she had imagined them capable.

“Even if you did need to,” Tomas said, “my share of the gold is yours.”

They exchanged a look, and Astrid knew Tomas had broken with them. That he would do as she suggested and build a house of his own. Bets would perhaps go to live with him, and he would never sleep under the same roof as Father and Eric again.

“Do you mean he has not thrown you out?” Father spoke hesitantly.

“My Bear has kindly allowed me to visit with my family, thinking I may miss them. We were to leave this evening, but I will not set foot in your house again, Father.” Her mother made a choking sound behind her, and she turned. “If I return, you can visit me at Tomas’s, Mother.” Her gaze shifted to the house. “I need to fetch my cloak.”

“I’ll get it,” Bets said softly, and ran in.

When she returned, she held the soft, warm cloak to her cheek.

“Can I walk with you a little way?” she asked, and Astrid nodded. Swung the cloak around her shoulders.

“Astrid.” Her mother stepped close and Astrid lay her head on her shoulder.

“I love you. Good bye.” With a last squeeze, she drew back, and saw the tears pouring down her mother’s cheeks. “Take your share of the gold and go, Mother. You and Bets and Tomas. You do not need to stay. The gold is for you all, equally. You have no need to be unhappy here.”

Her father started at her words, as if the truth of them had just occurred to him. His fists clenched at his side.

“Take your poisonous tongue and go.”

“She will go at her own pace, when she is ready,” Tomas told him, and held out one arm for her, and one for Bets.

“She will go now,” her father roared, then cut off abruptly.

Astrid turned, and saw Bjorn crossing the fields. Her heart leapt, and she realized how much she’d missed him. How close her declarations of love for him were to the truth.

She could not hold back her smile of welcome when he joined her, breaking free of Tomas and walking to him.

“There is trouble?” he asked her, ignoring everyone else.

“Not anymore.” She lifted a hand to his face, and he rubbed his cheek against it.

“Bets and Tomas will walk with us a little way. We can go now.”

“You are not staying until this evening?”

He must know she was not, must have heard some of what was said, and he wanted a fight, she could see it in his eyes, in the way his muscles bunched under his fur. Perhaps he was not even aware of it, but he was growling, soft and menacing.

“I am not.” She held his gaze and sent him the message there would be no confrontation. Not in front of her mother. She was terrified enough of him as it was.

He took a step toward her father and Eric, and the growl became a rumble. Something in the way he stood, as if prepared to leap, and to rend and tear, caused a deep, watchful silence to descend.

“Then let us go,” he said, cold, hungry eyes on Father and Eric. They were pale-faced, and closer to the cart than they had been.

As they walked to the woods, Astrid did not look back, but she whispered one thing to the breeze that flowed across her face.

“A mouth full of sand for both of them.”

Chapter Eighteen

“D
id your mother tell you what happened with the troll?” Bjorn barely waited until Tomas and Bets were behind them to ask it. He even let up his pace so he could hear her reply properly.

“She told me everything, but it means almost nothing to me.” He could hear the strain in her voice. It had been a hard day for her, and he wished he’d ignored her and killed her father. He’d dearly wanted to. Eric, too.

“Tell me what she said, it may make sense to me.”

She was quiet for so long he almost halted.

“What will you tell me, in return?” she asked.

He stumbled on the path.

“Why did we make this journey, if not to find out what your mother knows?”

“You want me to tell you everything, while you tell me nothing.”

He could imagine her face, a frown on her brow and her jaw set.

“You know why I cannot.”

He felt her fists tighten on his fur.

“Explain the conditions of this bargain to me.”

He had thought, from the way she looked at him when he’d come to fetch her from her father, that she was beginning to love him. Her smile had been bright as the sun off snow. She had been happy to see him, the warmth in her eyes stabbing at the remaining ice around his heart.