Freyas Saga Ch. 03

"Your ..." she began, and closed her eyes momentarily. Then opened them again.

"Your loyalty," she grated, chewing the long word, and to his alarm she grimaced, hawked and spat blood on the ground, then fixed him with her gaze once more. "It honours us both."

"Thank you," he said weakly.

Then, she took her hand from his shoulder, took a knife from her belt and, watching him, she held up her other hand and cut her palm. Blood trickled from the wound.

She held up her bleeding palm to him and raised her eyebrows.

Bloody hell, he thought. Oh god.

"Really?" he whimpered. She nodded, her grim smile still giving him the wobblies.

"What will this mean, exactly?" he said. She lowered her eyes a moment, considering, then raised them again and stared him in the eye.

"You," she said in a hoarse whisper. "And me. Forever."

His heart was pounding.

This was not your ordinary knight-squire thing. This was a blood oath, making them brothers, or more accurately a brother and a sister; it would tie them irrevocably and if either of them ever broke it, the other would be entitled to ... he didn't even want to think about the penalties for breaking a blood oath.

"There's a problem," he said. She cocked an eyebrow.

"I'm pledged to Sir Snorri," he pointed out.

She looked at him, and then turned her head and looked around. She made a big thing out of it; she turned her face to every point of the compass before she turned back and confronted him with the fact that Sir Snorri had fucked off and left them both there.

"So, you as his fellow knight free me of that pledge?" he said.

She nodded.

"Then," said Five, "all right. Fuck it. Yes."

He held up his hand. She took it by the wrist and put the blade against the flesh of his palm, and he forced himself to watch as she quickly, deftly cut him, and then shoved the knife back in her belt and pressed the palm of his hand to hers.

Then she grabbed him, and pulled him in, holding him tight, their foreheads pressed together as their blood mingled, and she kissed his hand, fiercely. They were so close that he could feel her heart beating, the breath from her nostrils; she could feel him trembling. She breathed deeply.

"I'm sorry for everything, lady," he whispered. "I truly am."

She nodded and squeezed his shoulder, hard. He understood. He was forgiven.

He felt peculiarly blessed. He didn't think he'd ever been genuinely forgiven for anything before.

She held him there, for a long moment. Then she let her breath out in a long exhalation, and he felt her relax.

"I'll make that food now, if that's all right," he said softly. "Not the rabbit. That'll have to hang for a bit, so it can get tender. I could make some soup, though."

She put her arm around his shoulder and hugged him, and he could feel from her face against his that she was smiling. Then she let go, and he saw her face, and she was.

He bowed to her, and she inclined her head.

He washed their hands and she took a bandage and bound their still bleeding palms, and then she walked slowly back to the fire and sat down, waiting patiently for the food.