Svea would have known the first voice anywhere.
Asvoria.
The very first of the group to break the quiet.
"I'm not throwing the game!" she spat, fury lacing her words.
Throwing the game? What in Hel's name is Asvoria speaking about? Svea thought to herself.
"That isn't fair, Asvoria," Eumelia said, shuffling with folded arms,. "Archery is my skill. I should win this contest."
"Then win it fairly," Asvoria shot back, narrowing her eyes. Her mind raced. All her life, her bow had been her teeth, her claws. . . the very art that kept her alive. She had perfected it all her life. She would have bet her life on her own ability. Yet here she was, being told she must lay it aside. For not her own lack of strength, not for poor aim, but to coddle another's pride. What was the point of a contest where victory was already bought?
Svea kept still in the shadows, hoping they wouldn't catch her.
She knew Asvoria, knew her hunger for glory, she knew that the latter had never once betrayed her own worth when it came to survival, battle, or hunting. She could bend for loyalty, for kin, for clan, but not for her own integrity. Never.
"Then you'll sit it out," Raoul decided, tsking with his own frustration at his wife. He wouldn't look at her. Svea on the other hand could not see her friend's face from her hiding spot, but she knew what she would look like: eyes wide trying to absorb what had been said, lips parted ready to bite back. She'd be nothing less than bewildered. Raoul's words had not been a command only; they had been a dismissal.
"Of course I won't!"
The bickering of his inner circle forced Aeneas himself to intercede. He had been listening all along, pale and frail as his cough shook his body, but still a Jarl and never willing to be seen as weak. His blue eyes narrowed. "Eumelia is set to win the archery." he pronounced, his declaration was a warning. "Therefore, you must not. You live under my roof, eat at my hall, carry my name - yet what do you offer? Have you even found a warrior to fill the place of the one you lost from my guard?"
His thin chest rose with the effort of each breath. His posture remained straight, but they all knew too strong a cough would shake his soul out. "Eumelia is our finest archer. That will be shown today. Why do we waste words on what has been decided? If you wanted victory, Asvoria, you could have taken Tug of War."
"You placed me against my own people!" Asvoria snapped, dragging a hand through her hair, wild with frustration. "You wanted me to lose. IF her team hadn't cheated," she thrust a finger toward Eumelia, "I would have crushed them!"
I knew it, Svea thought grimly. The stone that Eumelia had kicked back into place had been no accident. It had been buried deeper into the earth, but meant to hold the rope.
"It was a last-minute choice. Your team was short," Aeneas reminded with a dismissive shrug. "And you lost. That is all. Archery belongs to Eumelia. If it matters so deeply, then perhaps Raoul will permit you to take his place in the horse race." Aeneas suggested as he looked between the couple. The acidity of the word "permit" boiled through Asvoria, Raoul didn't seem to care.
Asvoria's jaw locked. For all her fire, she stood in silence.
"Fine," Asvoria muttered at last, her voice grit between her teeth.
Hidden from her sight where she stood, Svea could only hear as Gerd's higher, adenoidal voice cut in.
"All that truly matters is that someone from here wins. Aeneas knows why he decides these things. We all have a part to play in his vision. You will obey."
Svea bit her tongue.
Svea bit her tongue. When had Asvoria become so compliant? When had the woman she had watched tear the hide off of a boar with her bare hands become so quiet? So willing to conform? Asvoria was no longer Asvoria of Valkvann. She had become Asvoria, Raoul's wife and shadow, Aeneas's puppy.
"Is it settled then?" Aeneas pressed, waited until the group gave their small agreements. Silence followed when they noticed Asvoria had yet to answer. Raoul moved to her side. From what Svea could see, he had grasped her arm as if in support.
Gritting her teeth, Asvoria conceded to the group. "Fine."
It was unlike her, but could Svea say that confidently anymore? Perhaps this is what she had become since leaving.
"Excellent! Let us resume the festivities then!" Aeneas announced, striding toward the door as his circle dispersed to prepare themselves. He slung an arm around Hvitserk, the long sleeve of his tunic flowing against his back. "Are you truly content to sit out today's contests?" he asked, his voice coaxing, as though urging another loyalist toward a victory that he was sure would be dedicated to him.
Once the coast was clear, Svea slipped from the longhouse. She moved directly to Dragmall, whose puzzled look met her lowered eyes. She only shook her head, silently telling him she could not answer here, not in front of the others. Linking her arm through his, she let her fingers trace small circles against him for comfort.
"Will our archers come forth, then?" Aeneas's voice rang out across the field.
He stood waiting where the contest would be held, arms outstretched to gesture at the woven targets scattered before them. "A bow and set of arrows, all inspected by me personally, have been placed at each station. Now, step forward to claim your places."
Svea knew he had only announced it so no one could call the integrity of it into question. To do so would be treason.
Eumelia strode onto the field first, swiftly claiming the second station.Asvoria took the third.The rest scattered across the line.
The ninth spot was still unoccupied. At the last moment, Svea stepped forward, seized the sack, then inspected the bow herself. When she looked up again, her gaze caught on the same man she had encountered in the shadows of the longhouse.
"Each competitor will receive one bow and nine arrows," Gerd declared, her higher voice carrying easily on the air, drifting like pollen the bees still chased across the meadow. "Though truthfully, you should need no more than four."
Nine was Odin's number. They had given extra for him.
"Good thing you slipped out before they caught you." Raumr teased, his low voice reached her as he checked over his arrows, then set the sack down again, turning the bow thoughtfully in his hand.
Pressing her lips together, Svea narrowed her eyes at the way Raumr spoke to her.
"How else would I know that I need to lose to you and Eumelia?" she asked.
Despite her sneering, Raumr didn't take the bait. This seemed to be the way he had chosen to handle her. Allow her to present her anger while he met it calmly, if at all.
With her claim, he met her stare. He kept his voice low so no other other would hear it.
"I am not part of that," he informed, shutting down her accusation before it could take further root or poison her image of him. "If you best me, it will be because you earned it - with that perfect aim you boast of."
The words lingered between them, not a taunt so much as a challenge, a test, to see if she could match her pride. Svea scoffed and rolled her eyes, turning back to her target, unwilling to give him the satisfaction.
Something about the way he had said it refused to leave her mind.
She denied the distraction.
Aeneas's cheating had gone unanswered throughout the day. If no one else would humble him, it would have to be her.
Behind them, Dragmall cheered brightly for his woman. "You can do it, Svea!"
"Raumr? You're participating?" Aeneas called, his curious smile spread on his face.
Raumr did not answer, only set his stance whilst testing the draw of his bow. Svea lifted her chin, ignoring the Jarl, ignoring even Raumr himself. She fixed her gaze on Dragmall instead, on his pride in her. If only he knew what was at stake. If only they all knew.
Different competitors went first. The first struck only the dark-green ring of the woven target, missing the bullseye.Eumelia followed, second in the line, her arrow landing dead center. The crowd murmured its approval for the first perfect shot of the day.
Third was Asvoria, who steadied her breathing, working to find the proper balance for her arrow. Sliding it easily against the bowstring, she pulled her hand back, gripping the wood of the bow tighter, extending the two like lovers with the same mind. She released the arrow in her full draw.
Quicker than anyone could have seen, Asvoria jumped back, reacting too late to the string that snapped as she released. The thick cord whipped against her neck, and the wooden bow flopped forward from its suspension, punishing her for daring to command it.
The crowd fell silent.
No one knew what do or how to react. No one cheered, no one called for her to be checked; they only stared. They all shared her shock that the bow had broken against her.
Silence lingered until Asvoria gathered herself. A dark, hateful expression hardened her face as she slowly rose, ignoring the bleeding gash from the ricocheting string.
"You -" she snarled, teeth clenched, preparing to lunge at Eumelia like a feral hound foaming.
Silence lingered until Asvoria gathered herself. A dark, hateful expression hardened her face as she slowly rose, ignoring the bleeding gash from the ricocheting string.
Eumelia's life was only saved by Raoul's quickness. Either he knew his wife too well, or he knew what would happen. He caught her at the waist, dragging her back as she reached, clawing for her rival.
"Come, wife. The Völva will heal this," Raoul commanded, dragging her as she thrashed against his grip, still thrashing for Eumelia. "Enough. I will not have you matching Raumr." he said coldly as she continued shouting her accusations at the other woman, even as her eyes kept shifting back to the Jarl. Sharing the same accusation between them that she wasn't able to speak aloud. He pretended to be more concerned about her face scarring.
Raumr, Svea noticed, didn't react to the attack on his name or looks.
DId it stop bothering him after time passed? Or is he simply saving face?
Svea's gaze drifted down to her own bow. A knot of doubt twisted in her chest. Had they tampered with hers as well? or had Asvoria simply put too much force into hers? The woman had never been graceful. Strong? Yes. Delicate? Never. It couldn't have been a coincidence after the conversation Svea had overheard in the longhouse. Not a clean accident. How could it be?
Her fingers traced along the bowstring, searching for fray or flaw. Nothing. Smooth as any she may have built herself. No, Svea thought, if Aeneas ordered sabotage, he would not repeat the same trick twice. It would be more slight. Weighted arrows, perhaps just enough to drag the flight. Or maybe only Eumelia's were sharpened, her path cleared while the rest stumbled.
Asvoria had refused to throw the game. The only way to silence her was a public failure. A broken string was an accident no one could question. She still doubted considering the injury it had resulted in. Would he have resorted to injury? Svea doubted it. For all his cruelty, Aeneas had wanted only Eumelia's victory, not blood on the grass.
Yet, he wouldn't let them debate it at all if injury had been part of the plan, Svea reasoned. He made a point of parading Eumelia as his best archer. One cannot deny she has talent. I witnessed it myself when she came to Valkvann.
Even as Gerd called the competitors back into place, Svea's mind still spun, trying to untangle what she had just seen.
Losing himself in focus as he drew his arrow back, Raumr pressed his tongue to his cheek in concentration. Svea had never seen that before. Such a small, strange quirk, yet it belonged to him. She worried he might bite his tongue off if he waited too long to shoot.
Where the competitor after Asvoria had rushed, afraid of a bowstring snapping, Raumr was calm. He would not be ruled by the fear of a sting across his skin. He waited, bicep straining beneath his sleeve, and only then released. The arrow struck the tiny circle at the bull's center. He turned his head, just slightly, so that the corner of his amber eyes caught hers - watching her without a word.
Svea crouched to check her own arrows. Her finger slid along the tip, hissing when she expected a cut that never came. Frowning, she sifted through the bag. One… two… three… four… five… six… seven.Seven of nine are dulled.
She clicked her tongue in frustrating, tossing the bag aside. Arrows scattered, clattering across the dirt between her and Raumr. She pulled the sharpest she could find and steadied her breath. Her shot flew true, sinking into the bull's-eye just as she had promised. The crowd stirred but she offered no smile, her gaze fixed instead on the scattered arrows at her feet. She couldn't enjoy it knowing she had one more good shot lined up.
Behind her, Dragmall was quick to showcase his pride. "That is my bride! The finest shot of them all!" He bragged to the poor soul beside him, his voice swelling over the silence. Svea shut him out. He didn't understand he was setting himself up for ridicule. He'd be disappointed if she failed to recover from the dull arrows waiting for her.
The contest rolled on. The woman after her let loose an arrow that dragged wide, barely scraping the target. The cycle repeated.
Gerd passed through them. "Svea, gather your arrows."
Sighing, Svea stepped into the shared space between her and Raumr to pick them up. She wanted to spit the truth out, to drag Aeneas into the open before all of them. She knew better. His wrath would not fall on her alone - it would scorch Valkvann. She reached for the arrows, flinching when a few rolled into Raumr's space, mingling with his. She shut her eyes, collecting herself.
He crouched, retrieving them at his own pace.
"If you're going to lose," he began quietly, "I won't give you an excuse."
He plucked enough sharp arrows for himself, then, without a word, replaced some of Svea's dulled ones with his own. He rose and stepped forward to take his shot as though nothing had happened.
Svea remained crouched, lips pressed tight. How had he noticed? How had he known? She swallowed the "thank you" she wanted to give him, tucking it deep inside where it burned. Straightening her shoulders, she took her place again.
Raumr's arrow loosed with a confident twang, striking the bull's-eye clean.
Even so, he hadn't made the sufficient points to defeat the other two.
"Eumelia and Svea are tied," Gerd declared, her voice sharp as she raised a shriveled hand. She glanced back at the row of punctured targets. "No tie-breaker was prepared."
Her pale eyes settled on Eumelia, who looked as though she would become sick standing in the sun a moment longer. Svea saw the anger behind her eyes, the certainly that she should have easily won. A promise had been made, the Jarl had given his part. If Eumelia failed to deliver. . .
"The kitchens report another pig must be slain for the feast," Gerd continued. "One of you may strike it down. Let the gods favor whose hand proves truest."
Svea and Eumelia answered with the same silence, their nods enough. The challenge was set.