Ease The Dawn

Part 2, Chapter 17

Standing in the hall, Aethelswith clung to Ivar's arm; Hvitserk, on her far side, stood with his hand subtly outstretched as if she might, at any moment, lose her balance and tip over. Back straight against the wall, Brana waited near the entrance to the corridor, her expression was rigid, and her cold eyes stayed fixed on the hall doors.

Angling down, Ivar pressed a kiss to the top of Aethelswith's loosely braided hair, murmuring quiet praise and soft encouragement. Letting go of his arm, she adjusted the ties of her green dressing gown around her spare waist. The way the fabric draped from her weak posture gave her the appearance of a starved child; evidence that restored health was still a ways away.

At the sound of approaching voices, she squared her shoulders, lifting her chin, as Loni and Ruud shoved Freydis through the doors. Still wearing her beige dress, her hands were shackled in front and at the sight of Ivar, her eyes bulged with fear. Pushing her onward, they stopped a few meters back and she lowered her face in a futile attempt to avoid his scrutiny. Instinctively, Aethelswith reached back to Ivar and squeezed his arm, feeling his body tense and sensing his desire to drive his blade into the top of her skull.

Opening his mouth to speak, Aethelswith tightened her grip and glanced up to him, wordlessly conveying her insistence.

"You do not need to see any of this," he spoke quietly.

"But I do."

Looking back to a cowering Freydis, Aethelswith squinted, her sensitive eyes still adjusting to the return of her sight. Even with the glare of the sun streaming through the open doors, she could see the filth on Freydis' dress and hands and caked under her nails. Her skin looked grimy and her previously shiny hair was dull. Aethelswith wanted to laugh, cackle like a witch, noticing Freydis' dry, chapped lips, perhaps even offer her a damp cloth to suck water or poisoned milk from. She should take mercy, attempt to understand and possibly forgive but none of that felt brutal enough for a girl who had been working her nocuous plan from the start.

And yet, nothing about Freydis rotting in a dingy cell for weeks while Aethelswith recovered enough to attend her hearing, pleased her. She felt no satisfaction or sense of peace, only rage so rich, at times, it took her breath. The image of Ivar sitting on his throne moments from giving his life plagued her sleep. Even awake, it seemed burned into her mind, visible still when she closed her eyes.

And Freydis had done that; spoon-fed sadness and devastation to all those Aethelswith loved and as a result, forced Ivar to place a blade to his throat. Blinking away the image, she steadied her thoughts, hoping her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Letting go of Ivar's arm, she straightened, clasping her hands in front, her face entirely void of emotion.

"Please, my lady," Freydis whined, "I could not explain this to anyone but you. I did not want to do this; any of this. I was forced. I had no choice."

Air shot out of Ivar's nostrils and his body vibrated, holding back by only a thread. Frowning, Aethelswith stepped closer, uncertain of her meaning.

"He forced me!" Freydis squawked. "He made me do it."

"Who?" Aethelswith narrowed her eyes.

"Burgred!" Freydis cried.

"That's it!" Ivar roared, reaching for the ax on his belt.

Eyes flashing, Aethelswith's hand flew out to stop him, latching onto his wrist and pulling him closer to calm him. Grunting with both frustration and resignation, he stepped in behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Nodding, she squeezed his hand giving assurance that she was not phased.