Gudrun was waiting for them. She was standing with her back to the fire; the smoke of it hung about her in the dark spaces of the hall. No one spoke. Kari leaned with his back against the door, hands behind him; then, slowly, he walked out into the firelight. Jessa stayed where she was. He stopped a few yards from Gudrun and they stared at each other in silence. To Jessa the likeness they shared was astonishing: the same thin paleness, the same sense of hidden power—even the same straight, shining hair, though Kari’s was ragged and muddy, and Gudrun’s arranged in long elaborate braids. Then the woman moved with a rustle of silks. “Where are your friends?” “Your men have them.” Kari’s voice was low, but his hands were clenched and trembling. “You should have known that.” She shrugged lightly. “Perhaps I did.” “No,” he said slowly. “You didn’t.” A flicker of expression crossed her face, as if she was surprised, but it was gone before Jessa could be sure.
