It was unsettling how quickly it happened. How easily the people accepted her—welcomed her, even. I’d been here for over a week and still felt the weight of suspicious stares, still caught whispers that died when I passed. But Lysandra? She moved through the settlement as if she owned it, and no one seemed to mind.
Maybe it was because they desperately needed a völva. The old one in the tower hadn’t spoken to anyone in decades, and the village had been without magical guidance for so long that Lysandra’s arrival felt like a blessing from the gods themselves.
Or maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe it was just because she was one of them, a völva, a practitioner of the sacred arts, someone who belonged in their world in a way I never would. She was magical, powerful, ethereal. I was just a girl pretending to be something I wasn’t.
* * *
By midday, it seemed like everyone was talking about her. The warriors praised her knowledge of combat techniques. The craftsmen marveled at her skill with leather and metalwork. The cooks whispered about the herbs she’d brought from the forest—rare plants that grew only in the deepest, most dangerous parts of the woods.
The healers looked at her like she was the answer to every prayer they’d ever whispered.
All praised her, like she was the next thing to a god.
The afternoon found me in the healers’ den, trying to focus on the simple task of grinding willow bark into powder. But my hands moved mechanically, my mind elsewhere.
Lysandra had arrived an hour ago.
She stood near the hearth, Halla beside her, demonstrating some technique I couldn’t quite see from my position across the room. A crowd had gathered—Olivia, Astrid, Morgan, and several other healers I recognized but didn’t know by name. They watched with rapt attention as Lysandra’s pale hands moved with practiced grace, explaining something in that smooth, honey-sweet voice.
“The key is in the preparation,” Lysandra was saying, her golden eyes reflecting the firelight as she worked. “Most healers rush this step, but patience yields far better results. Watch—”
She added something to the mixture in her bowl, and even from across the room, I could see the paste change color, shifting from dull brown to a vibrant violet that seemed to glow faintly in the dimness.
The healers gasped collectively.
“How did you do that?” Olivia breathed, leaning closer.
Lysandra smiled—that ethereal, captivating smile that made everyone around her lean in, desperate for more. “Practice,” she said simply. “And perhaps a touch of something extra.”
She glanced up then, and her golden eyes found mine across the room.
For just a heartbeat, our gazes locked.
Then she looked away, returning her attention to the eager crowd around her, and the moment passed.
I looked back down at my mortar and pestle, my hands suddenly unsteady.
“Marielle?”
I jumped, nearly dropping the pestle. Astrid stood beside my workstation, her sharp grey eyes studying me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“You’re grinding that too fine,” she said, nodding toward the willow bark that had indeed turned to dust under my distracted efforts. “Start over. We need it coarse for the poultices.”
“Right. Sorry.” I dumped the powder into a waste bowl and reached for fresh bark.
Astrid didn’t move away. She stood there for a moment longer, her gaze flicking between me and the crowd around Lysandra.
“You don’t look impressed,” she observed quietly.
I kept my eyes on my work, measuring my words carefully. “Should I be?”
“Everyone else is.” Astrid’s voice was flat, giving nothing away. “The village hasn’t been this excited about anything since… well. In a long time.”
“And you?” I asked, glancing up at her. “Are you excited?”
Astrid’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Her eyes—the same sharp grey as her sister Ingrid’s—fixed on Lysandra’s back with an intensity that made me think of a predator tracking prey.
“I’m cautious,” she said finally. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, returning to her own station on the opposite side of the room.
* * *
The afternoon stretched on in a blur of demonstrations and lessons. Lysandra seemed to have an endless well of knowledge—techniques for treating fever, salves for wounds that wouldn’t close, teas that could ease pain or bring sleep, or sharpen the mind. She moved from station to station, offering advice, correcting methods, her presence commanding attention without ever raising her voice.
And everyone loved her for it.
By the time the dinner horn blew, I was exhausted—not from physical work, but from the constant tension of being in the same room as Lysandra. Every time she moved, I found myself tracking her movements. Every time she spoke, I listened too carefully to the words beneath the words.
People like her don’t exist without a price.
Erik’s warning echoed in my mind.
“Coming to dinner?” Olivia appeared at my elbow, already pulling on her cloak.
“I… yes. Of course.” I set down the herbs I’d been sorting and reached for my own cloak.
“Wasn’t today amazing?” Olivia’s face was flushed with excitement as we stepped out into the cold evening air. “I learned more in one afternoon with Lysandra than I have in months with Halla. Not that Halla isn’t wonderful,” she added quickly, “but Lysandra just has this way of explaining things that makes everything click, you know?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“And did you see that glowing paste she made? I’ve never seen anything like it. She said she’d teach us how to make it tomorrow, and—” Olivia paused, finally noticing my silence. “Marielle? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly.
“You’ve seemed off all day.” Olivia’s brow furrowed with concern. “Are you feeling alright? Maybe you should ask Lysandra to look at you—”
“No.” The word came out sharper than I intended. “I mean… I’m fine. Really. Just adjusting to the new routine.”
Olivia studied me for a moment longer, then shrugged. “If you say so. But seriously, if you’re not feeling well, Lysandra could probably help.”
Bet she could.
We reached the longhouse, its warm glow spilling out into the darkening evening. Inside, I could already hear the buzz of conversation, louder and more animated than usual.
They were talking about her, of course.
The strange beauty. The miraculous healer. The völva who’d appeared like a gift from the gods themselves.
I followed Olivia inside, but my appetite had vanished completely. All around us, people spoke of Lysandra with reverence bordering on worship. How she’d helped old Gunnar with his joints—he could walk without his cane now. How she’d blessed a newborn that morning, ensuring the child would grow strong. She’d offered to visit the east longhouses tomorrow to treat the fever outbreak that had been plaguing them for weeks.
She was just perfect.
No one else seemed to notice, maybe Astrid did, but Astrid was typically bitter, so I couldn’t tell.
I found myself gravitating toward her, settling onto the bench across from her without asking permission.
Astrid glanced up, one eyebrow raised. “You lost?”
I shook my head.
We sat in silence for a moment, the noise of the longhouse washing over us but not quite reaching our isolated corner. I didn’t expect conversation—Astrid had never been particularly warm toward me. But the silence felt less hostile than usual.
“She’s good,” Astrid said finally, her voice pitched low enough that only I could hear. Her tone was flat, giving nothing away. “I’ll give her that. Everything she does, she does well. Almost too well.”
“Almost?” I echoed carefully.
Astrid’s grey eyes met mine, and I couldn’t read what I saw there. Astrid didn’t like me; that much was clear. But there was something sharp and assessing in her gaze, like she was weighing whether I was worth the words.
“No one’s that perfect, I get she’s magical and all…” Astrid trailed off.
Before I could respond—before I could figure out if she was warning me or simply making an observation—the longhouse doors opened again, bringing with them a gust of cold air and a ripple of excited whispers.
Lysandra had arrived.
She moved through the crowd like water, her pale hair catching the firelight, her golden eyes warm and welcoming as she greeted people by name, names she already knew despite being here for less than a week. She accepted praise with gracious humility, offered healing advice to those who asked, and somehow made each person feel like they were the only one in the room when she spoke to them.
I looked away, back to my untouched plate. When I glanced up, Astrid was already standing, gathering her things to leave. She didn’t look at me again. Didn’t offer any more cryptic warnings or shared moments of understanding.
She just left, her blonde braid swinging behind her as she disappeared into the crowd.
I sat there alone, unsure if what had just happened was an alliance or simply Astrid thinking out loud in my general direction.
Probably the latter.
* * *
My leg ached, worse than it had in days, actually. Each step sent a dull throb through my thigh that radiated down to my knee. The cold wasn’t helping, and by the time I reached the cabin door, I was limping noticeably.
Inside, the fire had burned low, casting everything in dim orange light. Erik wasn’t there, probably still out, doing whatever it was he did in the evenings. Training, maybe.
I collapsed onto the couch without bothering to remove my boots or cloak, exhaustion finally catching up with me. My leg throbbed insistently, a reminder that I wasn’t healing as quickly as I’d hoped anymore.
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, I was jerking awake to the sound of the cabin door opening. Erik entered quietly, snow dusting his shoulders. His eyes found me immediately, taking in my position on the couch.
“Long day?” he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.
“You could say that.” I sat up slowly, wincing as my leg protested the movement with a sharp spike of pain.
Erik’s gaze sharpened immediately. “Your leg?”
“Just sore. More than usual.” I pressed my hand against my thigh, trying to ease the ache. “Probably overdid it today.”
He moved to stoke the fire, his movements deliberate and controlled.
“Get some rest,” he said finally, his back still to me. “Real rest.”
With no protest, I got up from the couch and practically dragged myself to the bedroom, changed out of my
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and then Add to home screen.