Chapter Thirteen #2
Hot, blinding fury crashed through him. The roar in his ears was no longer the crowd.
He wrenched Sig’s sword aside, their shields colliding with bone-shuddering force.
This was no competition now. This was a fight for honor.
Sig fought like a cornered animal, wild and dirty.
Aevar dodged the clumsy swings and drove him back step by step.
With a crack that rang across the ring, Aevar slammed his sword into Sig’s knee.
Sig let out a strangled curse, but Aevar was already following with a jab to his stomach, cutting off his breath.
Sig stumbled, shield sagging. Aevar knocked it out of his hands and sent it spinning to the dirt.
Discarding his own shield, Aevar gripped his sword two-handed and advanced.
He struck again and again until Sig struggled to raise his sword fast enough.
Then Aevar landed a vicious blow to his ribs that made him cry out and crumple to his knees.
Sig gasped, dropping his sword and holding his side.
He raised his hand in weak surrender. Aevar stood over him, chest heaving.
Every muscle screamed to strike again, to make him stay down, but he forced the urge away.
Let everyone see Sig shamed like this. Broken, bleeding, beaten.
Without a word, Aevar turned his back. Something trickled into his eye.
He swiped it away with his wrist and scowled when his hand came away slick with red.
Around him, voices swelled—Erik, Kian, his mother—all speaking and reaching for him at once.
He tried to brush them off, not needing their fussing, but Erik grabbed the back of his head to hold him still and peered at the wound.
“Looks worse than it is,” he pronounced, clapping him on the shoulder.
Móthir fretted about getting it cleaned, but Aevar barely heard her.
His attention had already found Eadlyn again.
Her face was pale as she eyed the trail of blood, yet she held herself steady, not appearing to grow weak at the sight of it like some women might.
He met her eyes, and in them he found genuine concern.
Perhaps only because their newly formed alliance could so easily collapse, but something told him it was more than that.
Strangely moved, he offered her the reassurance he had not given anyone else. “I’m fine.”
Eadlyn waited until most of the guests were well into their cups before excusing herself for the night.
Hopefully, this way, no one noticed her early departure and started to whisper.
Aevar’s family did not seem to mind, but she didn’t want to stir any gossip that might suggest she didn’t respect the hard work and traditions of the Gathering.
Closing the door behind herself and muting the commotion from the hall, she let out a breath and yawned.
Though she had not taken part in any of today’s competitions, simply watching had exhausted her.
Especially the bout between Aevar and Sig.
Her stomach still knotted at the memory of Sig attacking while Aevar’s back was turned. A blow like that might have killed him.
She changed into the heavy linen shift she’d been sleeping in and wrapped a thick shawl around her shoulders.
Gently, she opened her Scripture pages to where she’d left off before Aevar came in last night.
He had appeared to be enjoying the night with his brothers and Kian, so she didn’t expect to see him again until morning.
But not ten minutes later, the door opened, and he slipped inside. Last night he’d come to check on her. What might have brought him in early tonight?
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Yes.” He hesitated a beat, as if even he wasn’t sure why he was here. “Everyone’s getting drunk. With more competitions tomorrow, there’s an advantage to staying sober.” He shrugged, something almost like a chagrined smile taking hold. “Like your Holy Book says.”
Eadlyn couldn’t dampen her own smile as she watched him cross to his corner, unbuckling his sword belt and shrugging off his leather jerkin. A brief wince crossed his face. After seeing the day’s brutal matches, she had no doubt the soreness was fierce tonight.
He wandered to the small shelf holding a polished mirror and inspected the cut along his brow.
Though he’d washed after the competitions, traces of dried blood still clung to his skin and streaked down his neck.
He wet a cloth in the basin and started cleaning up, missing the flecks of blood around his eye that were hard to see in the dim light.
“You still have a little blood on your face.”
He frowned, trying to find it, and she pushed to her feet. “Here, let me help.”
She stretched out her hand for the cloth.
Aevar hesitated for a moment before handing it over, and she stepped closer.
Carefully, she dabbed the cloth around his eye, loosening the dried blood.
Without realizing what she was doing, she raised her other hand to tip his chin down so she could see better.
Their eyes locked.
Eadlyn’s heart did an odd flip. Not even during their wedding ceremony had they been this close.
Something flickered across his face before he blinked and stepped back.
She dropped her hand and retreated just as quickly, heat rising to her face.
Clearing her throat, she managed a breathless, “I think I got it.”
Aevar only nodded before striding back across the room. She was still trying to calm the sudden swirl of emotions when he tugged his tunic off. She averted her gaze, but not before glimpsing the well-defined muscles of his shoulders and back. Her face burned hotter.
Against her better judgment, she glanced back. This time the muscles didn’t hold her attention, but the dark splotches already blooming into bruises and a long, pale scar slashing from his shoulder to halfway down his back.
Curiosity got the better of her. “How did you get that scar?”
He turned toward her, fresh tunic in hand, and she fought not to blush yet again. He, however, didn’t seem as flustered to catch her watching him.
“Last spring we were ambushed by Kalgorans while hunting up north. One of them dropped from a tree with a knife. If he’d been a grown man instead of a boy, I’d probably be dead.”
Eadlyn winced, fighting to keep her eyes on his face rather than his bare torso, though she did notice the hammer pendant he wore.
She’d seen the darkened metal amulet peeking out of his tunic a time or two before and had learned it was a symbol of their god Thor. “I thought you had a truce with them?”
“We do. But it doesn’t stop raiders from crossing into Nordra to cause trouble.” To Eadlyn’s relief, he slipped on the clean tunic. “Their so-called king claims ignorance. Says they’re rogues. Maybe they are. But dealing with a few raiders is better than open war.”
“How long has the truce been in place?”
“Three years.”
“And how many battles have you fought?”
“Five major battles.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “Many more skirmishes.”
Eadlyn marveled to think of him surviving so many. “How old were you when you started fighting?”
“I was fifteen the first time I rode with my father and brothers to defend the northern border.”
Fifteen. She thought of Edward at that age and couldn’t imagine him in that position even now.
She prayed Galen could turn him into the strong man he needed to be to lead Essix successfully.
He had so much to learn, and pressure squeezed her lungs not to be there and help him find his way.
The sudden longing for home was so strong it constricted her throat.
Her thoughts snapped back to Aevar as he settled onto his furs.
“We can read again if you’d like,” he said.
At those words, the bout of melancholy lifted, and a fresh hope bloomed in its place. It was as if God were giving her a quiet confirmation that she belonged here in Nordra, not Essix.