"David Freer - A Mankind Witch" - читать интересную книгу автора (Freer Dave)

alone do it. But, by Freya's paps, she'd sooner die than let the queen mother see any sign of how her
barbs stung.

She scrambled to her feet in a tangle of limbs, kicking over a footstool. That was normal, too. Her
stepmother hadn't said that Signy was as graceful as a pregnant cow on an ice patchтАФyet. But she
would, as usual. Then the shaming, half-true stories would follow.

Albruna could enjoy needling her stepdaughter. King Hjorda wouldn't care: he'd take her if she had two
heads and tail. He wasn't interested in Signy as a woman: she was merely wanted as a claim to the throne
of Telemark. As long as her brother was unwed and without heirs . . . she had value. And if that vile old
goat Hjorda could get a son on her, he'd have a better claim to the throne than Vortenbras did. She was
a very valuable trading piece at the moment, and Albruna was holding out for a high price. Signy knew
that was why she was still here, an old maid of twenty-four. She was waiting for Hjorda to increase his
offer. Albruna would go on belittling her, pretending to try and put Hjorda off, until the price went up
enough.

Signy spat, trying to rid her mouth of the sour half-vomit taste that the thought of her father's old foe
engendered. She touched the wire-bound hilt of the dagger in her sleeve. She'd sworn on both Odin's
ring and Thor's hammer, that she'd see King Hjorda dead in his marriage bed. Her father's honor
demanded that. Then she would die herself as her own honor required. But not for the first time she
wished that she really was thedokkalfarseid -witch's daughter that Dowager Queen Mother Albruna
accused her of being, every time she wanted to make sure the princess had not a friend in the royal
household. If Signy had had any powers, dark or no, she'd have turned her stepmother into a rat in a nest
of vipers long ago. The gods knew, she'd tried. But her participation in any charm, any piece ofgaldr ,
guaranteed that it wouldn't work. She could make any charm backfire, let alone fail.

"Come now, Your Highness," said Jarl Svein, his voice as smooth as oiled silk, "a princess of the blood
of two ancient houses, no matter how suspect the bloodlines are, is a jewel of value."

Abruna gave her characteristic sniff of disdain. "I've always had my doubts about her blood. Seriously,
King Hjorda would be wiser to look elsewhere. How can someone of our lineage be so graceless? She's
as clumsy . . ."

Signy had been told to wait until she was called to meet Hjorda's emissary. But she knew what was
coming next. She'd rather face the inevitable whipping than stay a moment longer. After all, what was one
more whipping? They hurt less than words anyway. She could be in the friendly comfort of the stables in
a hundred heartbeats. She darted out of the door of the antechamber . . .

To have her passage blocked by a large woman with thick buttermilk-blond braids. "Where do you
think you're going?"

Such an insolent question from a thrall-wench! Signy raised herself up to her full height, and did her best
to look a princess in every one of those meager inches. Even as she did it, she knew she was failing. "It is
none of your business, Borgny." She hoped she'd kept the quaver out her voice.



Mainz, late October, 1538

"It's already snowing in the north, Uncle," protested Manfred. "Surely it'll wait until summer. Or at least