Symphony of Shadows

13. Promise

In the darkness of the alcove, Astrid could only make out the general outline of the intruder, tall and lean with plenty of hair—the complete opposite of any normal Viking, except for the last attribute. Vikings were known to be pretty hairy. Wait, could it be the dragon rider? Quickly, her eyes darted down to the telltale sign that would ensure her conclusion but was proven wrong at the sight of his two perfectly normal legs. Rats. So much for the great dragon rider reveal. Just another nosy passerby. Probably. She didn't want to underestimate another Viking, she'd already made that mistake. How much of her attack had he seen? Maybe it wouldn't be too late to play the victim, she thought.

She lowered her mask to form a convincing pout and gave a quick fake sob, aiming to draw out sympathy. Hopefully, he would turn back around without saying a word and give Astrid the opportunity to finish making the grisly Viking suffer.

"Oh thank you so much for coming to rescue me!" she began, making sure to add in a sniffle here and a trembling lip there for dramatic effect. Even Loki would be fooled. "I thought no one had heard me scream, I was so terrified, you see, I was lost and he tried to take advantage of me—"

The young Viking chuckled and she almost yelled at him for not believing her clever acting skills.

"Looks like you handled him yourself, Can I ask what a warrior like you is doing out in the Eastern Markets? Surely you're a mercenary, but what brings you to this part of the archipelago?"

Mercenary? Ingrid had told her stories of the soulless fighters who valued a couple of gold coins over morals. Was he trying to insult her?

But he had called Astrid a warrior—a compliment she could not deny she'd always yearned for. And hearing the word hit her harder than she expected. Not many men, especially younger Vikings, believed that a woman could be a warrior. Hels, it had taken over a year to be accepted into the Berk Guard with several council meetings plus months of tests and training. Her blood had boiled when Snotlout and Gordeson were admitted in half the time with less than a quarter of her talent. The birth rate had been slowing down at Berk in recent years which placed more pressure on younger women to marry off and have at least six children.

Astrid didn't hold any resentment for her friends that chose the domestic life, but she just couldn't choose a life where she was given such a limited range of interests. Sewing, nursing, housekeeping, farming, shopping, gossiping—and dear Odin—cooking. Cooking had never been her forte; she had learned the hard way after nearly burning down Berk trying to bake a loaf of bread for a Snoggletog get-together at Ruff's. After the incident, she was more than happy to remain the old spinster-fighter than be the shame of Berk for not being able to cook a five course meal like every other doting wife.

Now that he had called her bluff, Astrid dropped the sniffling act. She scoffed at his questions and cocked her hip indignantly. Who would ever have the audacity to compare her to the notorious soul snatchers?

"I'm no mercenary and it's none of your business what I am or not doing. Do you want to be next? If not, I advise you to turn right around and pretend all is right with the world."

She gestured to the large Viking heap on the ground with her knife, clearly showing that she intended to make good on her threats.

However, the threat had the opposite effect when the curious Viking only continued with his intrusion.

"I would gladly be flayed by you, milady, but it would have to be another time. I can't in good conscience let you slip away until you tell me what happened."

Astrid rolled her eyes. "Are you this meddlesome every day, or am I just lucky today?"

The stranger shrugged off her insult. "I typically stick to myself until I hear blood curdling screams in the middle of an empty square."