TOSKA | Sihtric Kjartansson

𝐕𝐈𝐈.

JELLING, DANMARK [886]
— now known as Jelling, Denmark

ZVORA STILL CHEWED ON THE HARD STRIP OF BEEF WHEN YLVA WALKED INTO THE HALL ON A WARM SUMMER MORNING, exactly one week after her brother had acted against her husband's wishes.

Chewing was painful, but the sensation almost instantly left her body when Zvora could see the discomfort and sheer frustration on Ylva's face — a hue of shame turning her skin ashen.

"Good morning, Ylva," Zvora greeted her, the bruises on her jaw still visible and grotesquely accentuated with the white tunic she had donned on that day.

"Morning." Ylva seated herself slowly on one of the chairs, adjusting herself so that her belly wouldn't be touched by the table or anything else.

Zvora couldn't remember the last time that Ylva actually had answered to one of her greetings; ignoring her sheer existence was what Ylva could do best. Something had shifted when Esger had left his marks on Zvora's skin.

Maybe it was because news travelled fast in Jelling and that almost everybody already knew about her brother not controlling his hands and touching property that he wasn't allowed to touch. Despite Zvora's explanations, that she had to have teeth pulled out (as Arne had instructed her to tell) there had been other witnesses. Drunken men that were whispering about Esger's anger and that every woman he touched bore some signs of it afterwards.

Women were snickering about how some whores must've given him an illness because no one could've been this dumb to act against the wishes of the Jarl — talk that even reached the hall where Ylva proceeded to dwell until her child had freed itself from her womb.

Zvora knew that no one pitied her in particular; and she didn't need them to. She needed them to continue their talk, to make them tell the story to traders that boarded their ships and sailed to England in hopes that something of this may reach Thore before she even set foot on the foreign land.

When she swallowed the dry piece of beef she ignored the bitter taste it left in her mouth, watching Ylva instead who sliced herself pieces of cheese and the last bit of fruit that others were able to salvage from the garden.

"I've heard what my brother did." Ylva raised her chin, her piercing eyes focusing on Zvora who had leaned back on her chair. "And for that I apologise."

Zvora thought she hadn't heard right.

Ylva proceeded in slicing her apple into even pieces and ate them carefully, her swollen fingers placing the knife next to her plate on the table.

"He shouldn't have laid a hand on you," she continued, tearing away her gaze from Zvora towards her apple. "It should've been me."

Ylva barely chewed when she ate what she had placed herself on her plate, rubbing away any traces of food from her lips.

"I am the woman of the house. The woman your very presence disrespects. My brother is caged in his belief that it is his duty to protect me from slander and situations like these." She straightened her shoulders and for a brief moment Zvora could see the woman that Ylva truly was — not the distanced and poised woman for which everyone thought her to be but a force to be reckoned with.

Her words cut deeper than any knife could.

"When you first came here I thought you were the product of one of Thore's earlier travels to the south." Ylva smacked her lips. "That would've been easier to accept. The gods know how many bastards of his are running around this village, another one wasn't out of the ordinary."