The Marriage
Sigrún knew something was wrong when her father asked her to come to the west hall before dinner.
He never used the west hall unless there were guests, family disputes, or matters he considered too important to discuss while someone was eating. There were no guests that evening. That left two possibilities, and Sigrún disliked both of them.
She arrived to find her father standing beside the long table with a folded letter in his hand. Eirik had changed out of his riding clothes, but there was still mud on the edge of one boot. He had probably returned less than an hour ago. Two lamps burned behind him, and the windows were open to the cold evening air.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Sit down.”
“I’m comfortable standing.”
“Sigrún.”
She pulled out a chair and sat.
Eirik remained standing for another moment before taking the seat opposite her. He placed the letter between them.
“The Hrafnsson family has answered.”
Sigrún looked at the letter, then at him. “Answered what?”
Her father’s expression told her immediately that she was not going to like the answer.
“I met Lord Hrafnsson during the spring council.”
“I know.”
“We discussed several matters concerning both families.”
“You discuss several matters with everyone.”
“This one concerns you.”
Sigrún leaned back slightly. “What did you do?”
“I arranged a marriage.”
For a few seconds she thought she had misunderstood him.
“You arranged what?”
“A marriage. His eldest son, Arvid, is unmarried. You have met him before.”
“Yes. Three times.”
“That is enough to know who he is.”
“No, Father. That is enough to recognize him in a hallway.”
Eirik ignored that. “The Hrafnssons are an old family. Their lands border ours to the east. This arrangement settles a border dispute that has lasted since before you were born. Arvid is well educated. His reputation is good.”
“I’m not marrying him.”
Her father stopped.
Sigrún pushed the letter back across the table without touching it.
“You haven’t even read their answer.”
“I don’t need to read their answer.”
“You have not heard the full arrangement.”
“I heard the part where I marry someone I barely know.”
“You know enough.”
“I know he talks too loudly at dinner.”
“Sigrún.”
“And he spent half of the winter feast explaining his horses to me.”
“He breeds excellent horses.”
“Then perhaps he should marry one of them.”
Her father stared at her.
Sigrún folded her arms.
“That was childish.”
“I thought it was a reasonable solution.”
“You are not helping yourself.”
“I didn’t know I was required to.”
Eirik drew a slow breath through his nose. Sigrún knew that expression. She had seen it hundreds of times growing up. It meant he was trying very hard to remain calm because he believed the person opposite him was being unreasonable.
Unfortunately, Sigrún was beginning to feel exactly the same way about him.
“This is not a punishment,” he said. “Nobody is sending you away to some stranger in a distant kingdom. The Hrafnssons live two days from here. You would remain close to your family.”
“I don’t want to marry Arvid.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I just said it.”
“You are angry because you were not consulted.”
“Yes.”
“And because of that, you have decided to reject the entire arrangement before thinking about it.”
“No. I’m rejecting it because I don’t want to marry him. Not being consulted is simply making me angrier.”
Eirik sat back. “You have been an adult for less than a year.”
Sigrún laughed once, without finding anything funny.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“I wondered how long it would take.”
“How long what would take?”
“For you to remind me that I’m barely an adult whenever I disagree with you.”
“I am reminding you because it matters.”
“I’m two hundred and sixty-seven.”
“And you know perfectly well that human numbers mean nothing here.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then stop using them as though they prove something.”
Sigrún got up from the chair. Sitting there was becoming impossible.
Her father watched her walk toward the window. Beyond the glass, lights were beginning to appear among the houses below the hill. She had known most of those lights all her life. She knew which road became muddy first after heavy rain, which baker opened before sunrise, which section of the forest was dangerous during winter, and exactly how long it took to walk from her father’s house to the river.
Apparently none of that was enough to know whether she wanted a husband.
“You have never supported yourself,” Eirik said.
Sigrún turned around. “What does that have to do with Arvid?”
“Everything. You speak about choice because you have never had to worry about what happens after the choice.”
“So I should marry someone because life is difficult?”
“You should understand that your decisions have consequences.”
“I understand consequences.”
“No, you understand the word.”
That hurt more than she expected.
Sigrún stared at him. “Do you really think I know nothing?”
“I think you have lived your entire life protected by this family.”
“That wasn’t my decision either.”
Eirik’s face tightened. “Be careful.”
“Why? Because now I’m supposed to be grateful enough to let you choose my husband?”
“I did not say that.”
“You arranged the marriage before speaking to me.”
“I opened negotiations.”
“For my marriage.”
“Yes.”
“Without me.”
“Yes, because that is how these matters have been handled in our families for generations.”
“Then generations of people should have learned to ask.”
Her father stood.
“You think the world outside this house cares what you want?”
“I don’t know. You’ve spent two hundred and sixty-seven years telling me I’m not ready to see enough of it.”
“That is not true.”
“You decide where I go. You decide which councils I attend. You decide what responsibilities I’m ready for. And now you’ve decided who I’m supposed to marry.”
“Because I am your father.”
“That doesn’t make my life yours.”
The room went quiet.
Eirik looked at her for a long time.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower.
“You think I am trying to control you.”
“You are trying to control me.”
“I am trying to make sure you have a future.”
“I have a future.”
“Doing what?”
Sigrún opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Her father waited.
It made her even angrier.
She knew languages that humans had stopped speaking centuries ago. She could use a bow. She could ride, track, identify plants, read old runes, perform the basic magic every member of her family was expected to know, and recite enough history to make most tutors regret asking her a question.
She had never earned money.
She had never rented a home.
She had never needed to.
“I’ll figure it out,” she said.
Eirik shook his head. “That is not a plan.”
“It’s more of a plan than marrying Arvid because our grandfathers argued about a border.”
“You are reducing this to make it sound ridiculous.”
“I don’t need to. You’re doing very well on your own.”
“Sigrún.”
“What happens if I marry him and hate him?”
“You learn to build a life together.”
“And if I don’t want that life?”
“You are talking about marriage as though it is a prison.”
“No. I’m talking about being told to marry someone I didn’t choose.”
“He would provide you with a respected household, land, security—”
“I already have a household.”
“You will not live in mine forever.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Sigrún stared at him.
That question changed the argument.
“So that’s what this is.”
Eirik frowned. “What?”
“You want me gone.”
His anger disappeared for a moment. “That is not what I said.”
“You just told me I can’t live here forever.”
“Because you cannot. Children grow up.”
“I’m not a child when you want me married, but I’m a child when I say no.”
“That is enough.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Sigrún.”
She walked back to the table, picked up the letter, and held it toward him.
“Tell them no.”
“I will do no such thing tonight.”
“Then tomorrow.”
“You will meet Arvid again. You will speak with him properly, and after that—”
“No.”
“You will at least meet him.”
“No.”
“You are behaving like a spoiled child.”
“And you’re behaving like my answer only counts if it’s the answer you wanted.”
Eirik took the letter from her hand.
“You have had everything provided for you since the day you were born. Food, tutors, clothing, horses, servants, protection. You have never spent a single night wondering where you would sleep. Yet you stand here and speak as though this family has done nothing but imprison you.”
“I never said that.”
“That is exactly how you are behaving.”
“I can love my family and still say no to you.”
“Then act like a member of this family.”
“I am.”
“No. You want all the privileges of belonging to it while rejecting every obligation the moment one becomes inconvenient.”
Sigrún felt her face grow hot.
“Marriage is not an inconvenient chore.”
“It is one of the responsibilities that comes with your position.”
“My position?”
“Yes.”
“I’m your daughter.”
“You are also an Eiriksdóttir.”
“And apparently that means everyone gets a vote on my life except me.”
Her father slammed his hand against the table.
The lamps trembled.
Sigrún flinched, more from surprise than fear.
“Enough!”
Neither of them spoke.
Eirik rarely shouted at her. That almost made it worse.
He looked away first, pressing one hand against the table.
When he spoke again, he sounded tired.
“You have no idea what waits outside these lands.”
“Then maybe I should find out.”
“You would last a month.”
Sigrún swallowed.
“That’s what you think of me?”
“I think you are inexperienced.”
“You said I’d last a month.”
“Because you believe independence means walking out of this house and doing whatever you please. Who pays for your food? Where do you sleep? What do you do when you become ill? Who helps you when something goes wrong?”
“I will.”
“You don’t even know how.”
“Then I’ll learn.”
“And if nobody is there to rescue you?”
“Maybe I don’t want to spend the rest of my life needing to be rescued.”
Her father shook his head.
“This is foolishness.”
“Maybe.”
“Sigrún, sit down.”
“No.”
“We will discuss this tomorrow when you have calmed down.”
“I am calm.”
“You are preparing to throw away your family over one disagreement.”
“You’re the one making me choose.”
“I have made you choose nothing.”
“Yes, you have.”
She walked toward the door.
“Sigrún.”
Her hand stopped on the handle.
Her father’s voice came from behind her.
“If you walk out because you reject the responsibilities of this family, do not expect this family to finance your rebellion.”
She turned.
For the first time that evening, neither of them looked angry. Her father looked as though he wanted to take the sentence back but was too proud to do it.
Sigrún gave him the chance anyway.
“Are you saying that if I refuse the marriage, you won’t support me?”
Eirik was silent for several seconds.
Then he said, “If you reject this family, don’t expect this family to support you.”
Sigrún nodded slowly.
“All right.”
His expression changed.
“That is not what I meant.”
“It sounded very clear.”
“Do not twist my words.”
“I asked you to clarify them.”
“Sigrún, stop.”
But she had already opened the door.
She went upstairs to her room and pulled a travel bag from the bottom of her wardrobe.
At first she packed too much.
Three dresses. Two cloaks. Books. Her bow. A wooden box of letters. Jewelry. A blanket. Another pair of boots. Then she looked at the bag and realized she could barely lift it.
She emptied everything onto the bed and started again.
One cloak.
Two changes of clothing.
Her bow.
A knife.
A small silver ornament her grandmother had given her.
A few personal things she could fit around them.
She reached for a purse in the drawer, opened it, and stared at the coins inside.
Elf currency.
Sigrún hesitated.
She took it anyway.
There were footsteps outside her room once. They stopped at the door.
Nobody knocked.
A minute later, they moved away.
Sigrún sat on the edge of her bed with the bag beside her.
She was angry enough to leave.
That did not mean she was not afraid.
She had never lived anywhere else. She had never paid for a meal. She had never applied for work. She had never signed a lease, owned a telephone, opened a human bank account, or even considered how humans proved who they were.
Her father had been right about all of that.
She hated him for being right about any of it.
Sigrún pulled on her cloak, lifted the bag, and went downstairs.
Her father was no longer in the west hall.
She stood near the entrance for a few seconds, half expecting him to appear. Half hoping he would.
He did not.
She opened the door.
The evening air was colder now.
Sigrún stepped outside, pulled the door shut behind her, and started down the road with everything she believed she needed.
By tomorrow morning, she would begin discovering how much she had forgotten.
