BLOOD IN THE SNOW

3 Borrowed Time

Olivia stretched with a groan. "Finally. My back's about to snap in half." I stood up with her as we grabbed our coats from the rack near the door. "Lunch. If we're quick, there'll still be meat left before the warriors clean it out."

I stepped into the crisp open air, where snow swirled up from the ground in gentle spirals, pushed by the wind. We walked across the courtyard together. In the middle stood a large clock tower. To its left was the longhouse she was leading me toward; to the right, training grounds where a few warriors—young and old—practiced their drills. Among them, I noticed a slightly familiar head of hair. My eyes landed on Erik, sword in hand, shirt damp with sweat despite the cold, circling a younger warrior who looked eager but outmatched. Even from here, his movements were fluid, controlled. Deadly. His braid had come loose at one side—wild strands clinging to his neck—and his jaw was set as he corrected a younger warrior’s stance.

"Don't stare too long," Olivia muttered beside me, nudging my ribs. "You'll give yourself away."

I tore my gaze away, but not before Erik's head turned—just slightly—in my direction. Our eyes met across the snowy courtyard. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Then he returned to his opponent with renewed aggression, disarming the boy in three swift strikes.

The longhouse buzzed with lunchtime commotion. Inside, warmth hit me like a wall. The air was thick with smoke, roasted mead, and the raucous laughter of Vikings. Olivia and I wove between Vikings—young warriors and old, merchants and blacksmiths. Long wooden tables stretched the length of the hall, packed with bodies.

At the far end, near the largest hearth, a serving area had been set up—iron pots hanging over flames, steam rising in thick clouds. A stout woman with flour-dusted arms ladled stew into wooden bowls while a younger girl beside her tore chunks of dark bread from massive loaves. Olivia led me through the press of bodies toward them.

"Two bowls, Greta," Olivia called over the noise.

The woman glanced up, her eyes lingering on me a moment too long before she filled two bowls with thick, brown stew—chunks of meat and root vegetables visible beneath the surface. The girl handed us each a piece of bread, still warm, and Olivia passed one bowl to me. The weight of it was solid in my hands, the heat seeping through the wood into my palms.

Olivia steered me toward a quieter corner, away from the rowdiest clusters. As I found a spot near one of the long fire pits, Olivia nudged me again. I sat, trying to make myself small, unnoticeable. But I felt eyes on me—curious, suspicious. A few whispers rippled through the nearest table.

“See that warrior over there?” She nodded toward a tall, muscular man nearby—hair braided back in intricate patterns, sharp eyes, face covered in battle scars.

“That’s Axel.”

“What about him?” I asked, curiosity piqued. I studied Axel more carefully now, taking in every detail. Blonde hair, I noted, particularly because there aren't many blondes I have seen here yet.

Livi smirked, stirring her stew with a wooden spoon.

"Oh, nothing," she said casually, "just that he's the only man in this whole frozen mess who ever turned down Erik's sister for marriage."

She took a slow bite, watching my face.

My spoon stirred the hot liquid, part of me still adjusting to this lifestyle, so I wasn't completely tuned into what Olivia was saying. I was more focused on whether or not I was ready to try this new diet.

Olivia continued. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "I think he's had his eyes on someone else," she pulls back, her eyes gazing into the distance, "which doesn't make sense because Hilde was the most stunning woman in this whole village."

I looked up, following Olivia's gaze across the longhouse to where Axel sat near the fire. He was laughing, surrounded by a cluster of women who leaned in close. I wasn't trying to be dismissive, but I honestly couldn't bring myself to care about whatever Olivia was gossiping about this time. My mind was elsewhere, preoccupied with a thousand other things. I nodded along politely, offering the occasional "mm-hmm" or "really?" at what seemed like appropriate moments, but the words were just washing over me without really sinking in.

"Oh, and who do you have your eyes on?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.

Olivia choked on her stew.

"M-Me?" she spluttered, coughing into her sleeve as if she'd just inhaled something the wrong way, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink, "No one, of course! I'm too busy to..."

Her eyes shifted quickly to the left, then back to her bowl with a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She stirred the contents absently, watching the steam rise in lazy spirals.

"…Well... maybe one person," she admitted quietly.

I tilted my head to the side, leaning forward just a bit, urging her to continue with what she was saying.

Olivia's grin turned sly. "Nice try. I'm not falling for that."

But then she leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Some men... they're different, you know? Behind the muscles. There's something I admire." Her eyes darted across the room once again before landing back on me.

Suddenly, as if she realized what she'd said, her cheeks flushed crimson. "Wait. No. That was—! I meant—" She shot me a look, pointing an accusing spoon at me. "You're trouble. Change of subject."

It was silent for a moment, as neither of us said anything, and I was stirring the same stew that was probably cold by now.

I watched as Olivia lifted the bowl to her mouth and drained the rest of the stew, then set it back on the table with a satisfied sigh.

"You're not eating," she observed, eyeing my untouched bowl.

I glanced down at the congealed stew. My appetite had vanished somewhere between Astrid's accusations and the weight of too many eyes on my back. "I suppose I'm not very hungry."

Olivia reached over and nudged my bowl closer anyway. "Eat what you can. You'll need your strength if you want to survive every day in the cold." I managed a few reluctant spoonfuls, forcing myself to swallow despite the thick, gamey heaviness coating my mouth. It was nothing like the delicate, seasoned dishes I'd grown accustomed to. We stood and collected our bowls—mine still mostly full, hers scraped clean. "Come on. If we don't get back before Astrid starts grinding bones again, she'll make you clean the leech jars."

A shudder passed through me. I rose from my seat and walked alongside Olivia toward the dish drop-off area near the back of the longhouse, our boots scuffing against the worn wooden planks. The crowd had thinned somewhat, though clusters of Vikings still lingered over their meals.

I walked alongside Olivia toward the dish drop-off area near the back of the longhouse, our boots scuffing against worn wooden planks. The crowd had thinned somewhat, though clusters of Vikings still lingered over their meals, voices rising and falling in waves of laughter and conversation.

As we approached the dish-drop station, I noticed the man Olivia had been talking about earlier—Axel—pause mid-conversation with a group of women who'd been vying for his attention. His gaze shifted from them, landing first on Olivia, then sliding unmistakably to me. There was something deliberate in the way he looked that made my stomach tighten with unease.

Olivia didn't seem to notice. She was already launching into another complaint about the leech jars and how Astrid made her clean them every year. "I swear, they smell worse than the reindeer enclosure by midwinter."

We reached the drop-off. I glanced up again, almost involuntarily, and my eyes met Axel's once more; he hadn't looked away.

He smiled.

Not the cocky, playful grin he'd flashed at the other women moments before—the kind meant to charm and disarm. He held my gaze just a beat too long. Then his eyes slid back to Olivia, and the moment broke. My heart beat a little faster than it should have. Don't draw attention. Don't stand out.

"Marielle?" Olivia's voice pulled me back. She'd stopped, glancing over her shoulder with a curious look.

"Sorry," I murmured. "Just... trying to remember the way back."

She grinned knowingly but said nothing. Then a voice rang out from behind us.

"Hey, Liv!"

Olivia whirled around instantly, her face lighting up with unmistakable joy. "Axel! You came back in one piece?"

Axel approached with that easy confidence that warriors seemed to carry like a second skin. His blonde hair was pulled back in intricate braids. "Always do, Liv. You doubt my skills already?"

I stood there awkwardly, still holding my bowl, watching the two of them. It was sweet, actually—the way Olivia's entire demeanor shifted around him. She'd just been telling me about him, and now here they were, the energy between them warm and playful. They looked good together, I thought. Natural.

Axel reached behind his back and pulled out a small cloth sack, dangling it just out of Olivia's reach with a teasing grin. Her eyes went wide.

"Don't tell me you found more honey cakes—!"

"No, wait—!" Olivia laughed, lunging for it, but Axel held it higher, his grin widening.

"Ah ah, not until you say the magic word, Liv."

Olivia rolled her eyes dramatically, crossing her arms in mock indignation. "Please."

"And...?"

"Fine. Thank you for the honey cakes, you insufferable brute."

Axel smirked, clearly satisfied, and tossed her the sack. "See? Was that so hard?"

Olivia tore into it immediately, stuffing her face with crumbs like she hadn't just eaten an entire bowl of stew. Axel laughed, reaching out as if to steady her. "Careful, you'll choke—Liv, slow down—"

"Shhhh, I'm savoring the honey—"

"No, you're inhaling it—"

"Best honey I've ever had!" she declared proudly through a mouthful of cake.

Axel watched her for a moment, something soft flickering in his expression—his eyes smiling even as he shook his head. "I can tell," he said dryly.

I felt like I was intruding on something private. My chest tightened with a strange mix of warmth and loneliness. They had this... ease—this comfort. Meanwhile, I was a stranger in borrowed clothes, constantly one wrong word away from disaster.

"I think I'll head back to the den," I said quietly, setting my bowl down with the others. "See you, Livi."

Olivia glanced up, mouth still full, and gave me a cheerful wave. Axel's gaze flickered to me briefly—unreadable—but he said nothing.

I turned and slipped out of the longhouse, back into the biting cold of the courtyard. Snow crunched beneath my boots as I tried to retrace the path we'd taken earlier, squinting through the swirling white to find familiar landmarks—the
stone clock tower. The training grounds are to the right. The healers' den should be... left? Or was it straight ahead past the—

I paused, suddenly uncertain.

The wind picked up as I took careful steps, swirling snowflakes around my hood and stinging my cheeks. I pulled my cloak tighter and hurried forward, trying to orient myself. The blacksmith's forge glowed to my left, sparks flying like stars into the cold air, the rhythmic clang of hammer on metal ringing out. A group of warriors sparred nearby in focused silence.

I turned toward what I thought was the right path—past the clock tower, then left—

"Lost?"

I froze.

Erik stood just ahead, leaning casually against a wooden post near a low-hanging door. The real entrance to the healers' den. He hadn't been there a moment ago. I hadn't heard him approach. And now he was watching me with that quiet, unnerving focus—like he'd already known where I'd gone wrong and had simply waited for me to realize it myself.

My heart stuttered. "Perhaps," I admitted, looking up at him.

He didn't move. Just watched me, the cold wind tugging at the loose strands of his braid. Snowflakes caught in the dark hair melted instantly.

"Perhaps," he echoed, his voice low and rough.

Silence stretched between us.

"You're going to freeze before you learn your way around," he said finally, pushing off the post with deliberate ease. "Come."

Without another word, he turned and walked toward the den, his broad shoulders cutting through the wind like it was nothing. He didn't look back to see if I'd follow. I hesitated for only a second before hurrying after him, falling into step beside him. The snow crunched rhythmically beneath our boots.

Erik glanced sideways at me—just once—his expression unreadable. We walked in silence, the space between us charged with something I couldn't name. The den's door loomed ahead, and he reached for it, pulling it open and holding it just long enough for me to pass through.

I moved past him, careful not to meet his eyes. Before I could look back and thank him, the door shut with a click, and he was gone.

I exhaled slowly, then made my way back to my station, where the herbs still waited, exactly as I'd left them.