Aiya stood in the center of her new chambers, the space once belonging to Lady Ingrid. The richly adorned room with its luxurious tapestries, plush couches, and racks of fine gowns held little interest for her. Though beautiful, these things were frivolities, useless to someone who had endured what she had.
A firm knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. For the first time, she felt no fear of the person on the other side.
“Enter,” she called.
The door opened to reveal Esma and Annie, their faces lighting up as they stepped inside.
“Aiya! I mean, My Lady,” Annie teased, giving an exaggerated curtsy.
“Please, you are my friends. There’s no need for such formalities,” Aiya said warmly.
“It’s hard to believe—you’re Einar the Red’s daughter!” Annie exclaimed, still marveling at the revelation.
“You’ve heard of him?” Aiya asked.
“Heard of him? Every Dane knows of Einar Jørgensen. Einar den Røde is to Denmark what Ragnarr Loðbrók is to Norway—a hero,” Annie replied.
“Who is Ragnarr Loðbrók?” The name felt strange on Aiya’s tongue.
“That is a tale for another time,” Esma said with a wink, settling herself on one of the ornate chairs. “Now, what will you do with your newfound freedom? How I envy you, Aiya.”
Aiya’s response was calm and deliberate. “First things first: you’re free to go.”
Esma blinked, confused. “Free to go where?”
“Anywhere you dream,” Aiya said with a brilliant smile.
Esma froze for a moment before rushing forward, embracing Aiya tightly. “I’m free. I’m truly free,” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion. Annie stood back, smiling with quiet gratitude.
Just then, there was another knock. The door opened to reveal Thrain, his expression respectful but bright.
“Forgive me, Høyhet,” he said, bowing slightly. “The Jarl sends word. Ragda and Dagr have returned. He asks for your presence in the Great Hall—and requests that you adorn your finest dress.”
A small, knowing smile played on Thrain’s lips as he added, “He will send for you when it is time.”
“Tusen takk,” Aiya replied, glancing at Esma for confirmation of her pronunciation. Esma nodded approvingly.
Thrain bowed again. “Høyhet.” With a final smile toward the women, he left, closing the door softly behind him.
Esma sighed dreamily. “Oh, how utterly handsome he is! Did you see, Aiya? Så vakker!” She spun around in giddy delight.
Aiya gave a distant nod. “Yes, he is... quite handsome.” But her thoughts were elsewhere. “Dagr has returned.”
“We need not fear him anymore,” Esma said firmly. “He has no power over us now.”
Aiya shook her head. “He is still unpredictable. I don’t trust him.”
“The Jarl will handle him,” Annie said, her voice filled with excitement. “We must get you ready. It is your time now.”
---
Ragda and Dagr rode side by side, their horses galloping over the final stretch of road leading to Hafrafell. The brothers had been traveling for days, and though they were close to home, tension lingered between them.
“Why would he send us on a fool’s errand?” Ragda asked, his voice tinged with irritation.
“Because the old man is scheming, as always,” Dagr replied darkly. “He’s not fit to be Jarl.”
“You’re wrong, Dagr,” Ragda said. “Our father has reasons for everything. He is more cunning than you or I.”
Dagr snorted. “I care not. Apologies, bróðir,” he added with a sideways glance.
As they approached the longhouse, they were greeted by Thrain.
“Welcome home, Rag!” Thrain said, clapping Ragda on the shoulder before giving Dagr a curt nod. “Dagr.”
Thrain gestured toward the hall. “The Jarl awaits you both in the Great Hall.”
Dagr turned on his heel, muttering about finding the slave girl. But Thrain blocked his path.
“The Jarl calls for you as well, Dagr.”
Dagr’s expression darkened, his suspicions rising. “I told you, he’s up to something,” he muttered to Ragda.
“Enough paranoia, bróðir.”
Together, they entered the Great Hall, its vast space filled with the murmurs of gathered people. Roel sat in his high seat, Ingrid at his side. Her face was twisted in displeasure, her sharp eyes darting toward her sons.
“Faðir,” Ragda began, stepping forward. “Why did you send us to Hedeby on a fool’s errand? We arrived only to find they had no need of us.”
Roel stood, raising a hand to silence him. “I needed time.”
“Time for what?” Ragda asked, his confusion growing.
Roel addressed the crowd, his voice carrying over the murmurs. “For too long, Denmark’s throne has stood empty. A rightful heir has been lost for years. But now, I, Roel Lowzow, Jarl of Hafrafell, have found the blood of Einar den Røde.”
The crowd erupted in chatter, but their voices stilled as the great doors opened.
Aiya entered, draped in a golden gown that shimmered in the torchlight. Her hair was elegantly arranged, leaving her shoulders bare. She walked with a grace and confidence that turned every head in the room.
Ragda stared, his disbelief giving way to admiration. She was no longer the frightened girl he had once taunted but a woman commanding the room. He found himself smiling despite the chaos in his mind.
Dagr, on the other hand, could barely contain his rage. His desire for Aiya surged, fueled by the sight of her transformation. She was no longer his to take—she was now his enemy, and she would pay for the humiliation she had caused him.
Aiya reached the dais, her eyes meeting Ragda’s for a fleeting moment before turning to Roel. She bowed her head in respect.
Roel raised his voice again. “I have another matter to address. For too long, I have tolerated disloyalty in my own hall.” His gaze shifted to Ingrid, whose face twisted with fury.
“I hereby banish Dagr, the bastard, from Hafrafell.”
Gasps echoed through the hall.
“How dare you disgrace me!” Ingrid shrieked, rising to her feet.
Roel ignored her. “I will not suffer your schemes any longer, Dagr.”
Dagr’s eyes burned with hatred, his hand moving to his belt where his battle ax rested. In one swift motion, he struck Roel in the back, the blade sinking deep.
The Jarl’s blood spilled onto the ground as Ragda caught his falling father.
Dagr leapt toward Aiya, seizing her by the hair and holding the bloodied ax to her throat.
“Stay back!” he snarled at the guards who advanced. “I’ll kill her if you follow.”
Ragda, cradling his dying father, could do nothing as Dagr dragged Aiya out of the hall. Roel’s blood soaked into his lap as the Jarl whispered his final words.
“Protect her, Rag. It is the will of the gods. She must survive.”
Roel’s eyes closed, and his body went limp.
Ragda’s grief turned to fury. He swore then and there that he would find Aiya—and avenge his father.
YOU ARE READING
A Viking's Rage
Historical Fiction[2018 Watty's Shortlist] In a brutal world ruled by cruelty and power, Aiya is nothing more than a slave-her life defined by servitude and pain. But when her ruthless Lord betrays her and Northumbria falls under siege by Norse invaders, Aiya's life...
