Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-eight
Aevar stared into the forest as dusk closed around them like a tightening fist. Shadows stretched long across the undergrowth, cloaking the trees in smoky gray and silencing the birds one by one.
The wind had stilled, and all that remained was the faint rustle of leaves overhead and the slow, steady crush of hopelessness settling deeper into his being.
So many trees. So many endless, indifferent trees. And still no sign of Eadlyn beyond the occasional hoofprint or broken twig. None of it enough to say she was even alive or chase away the haunting thought that she might already be lost to him forever.
Nine days.
Nine days they had been on the trail. Every day they rode farther north, closer to Kalgora, and still she remained just out of reach. It was like running toward a star that never got any closer. The weight that had been pressing down on him descended with such force he struggled to breathe.
He closed his eyes against the burn behind them. Would he ever see his wife again? Would her voice and laughter become only a memory like Thora’s? Would he have to carve her name into stone beside Thora and Brenna and grieve for another life lost too soon?
The ache in his chest was sharp now. His throat thickened with it, each breath a battle.
The grief he’d kept at bay all these days roared to the surface, threatening to break him wide open.
His life teetered on the brink of shattering once again, and he didn’t think he could survive it this time. Not again.
Behind him, the soft clatter of gear and murmur of men told him the others were settling in for another night.
He caught snatches of voices—grim, weary, and too quiet.
He didn’t need to hear the words to know what they were saying.
The pity had grown more visible each day.
Some of the men had begun to speak in the abstract now.
If they found her. When they reached Kalgora.
What next, in case the worst had already happened.
His brothers and Kian never spoke like that, but Aevar read the worry in their faces, the weight of time pressing on all of them.
Footsteps approached. Aevar turned his head as Fathir came to stand beside him. The older man’s face was lined with weariness and years of hard leadership, but his eyes still held strength and something akin to hope.
“We will get her back.”
Aevar looked away, blinking. Each day made that harder and harder to believe. “It’s been over a week. We still haven’t caught up.”
“They’re growing careless. Jorund believes we can overtake them tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
Another night Eadlyn was at the whims and mercy of whoever had taken her. And if not tomorrow, they were running out of time. In two days, they’d reach the border of Kalgora. He would march straight to King Drocca’s throne if he had to, but even then, would she survive long enough to be found?
Fathir must have sensed the doubts. He put his hand on Aevar’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “You will not lose another wife.”
He wanted to believe that, but what if tomorrow was too late? What if tonight was the last she had? And even if they got her back, would things ever be the same? He dug his fingers into his belt, trying to anchor himself to something solid.
“What if they’ve already hurt her? What if…” He couldn’t finish the thought. The words tasted like blood in his mouth.
“Then you will love her. And we will help her heal. Whatever has been done can be endured. But we are not too late. Not yet.” He stared out into the gloom, his voice quieter now. “And perhaps her God will protect her.”
Aevar stood motionless, pierced by those words.
Her God.
The One she read to him about at night. The One she prayed to at the fjord’s edge every morning.
For days now, his heart had been a battlefield.
Half cursing the gods who had failed him, half whispering desperate prayers to the One Eadlyn called Father.
And somewhere along the road, between hoofbeats and unanswered prayers, his loyalty to the old gods had died. Maybe it had been dying for years.
He couldn’t take another breath in the camp. Not under the weight of so many eyes. Not with the war in his mind.
“I’ll be back,” he muttered, turning.
Fathir didn’t stop him.
He walked with no direction, no plan. The forest stretched before him, darker now, the trunks blurring together. The farther he went, the more his thoughts surged, questions, fears, and guilt crashing against each other like waves in a storm.
Would he ever find her?
Would he even recognize her when he did?
Would she still be his?
The forest opened to a narrow river, dark and glassy under the half-hidden moon. Aevar stopped at the edge, breath ragged, limbs trembling, not from exhaustion, but from holding everything in.
Memories clawed their way forward. Thora’s body in his arms, her soul slipping into silence. Brenna, so small and still. Prayers offered to Odin and Freyja and anyone who might listen. Pleas made with blood and sacrifice and tears.
Nothing had come.
No signs. No answers. Just silence.
He reached for the pendant around his neck, the one he’d worn since childhood. Thor’s hammer. The old symbol of strength and storm and fury. He closed his fingers around the cool metal, but there was no strength in it. No fury that could help him now.
He yanked it off, the leather cord snapping with a soft pop.
The pendant sat heavy in his palm. Lifeless.
A lie. If Eadlyn and her Holy Book were right, then all the prayers he’d offered to the gods in his lifetime had been empty requests thrown into the wind.
Pleas that went unheard by creations of men.
Words that accomplished nothing and saved no one.
He didn’t even know when or how he had truly started listening those nights Eadlyn had read to him, but the realization struck him like lightning from heaven. He believed it. He believed her. The gods were not real. They could not help him, and they could not help Eadlyn.
Aevar looked at the pendant one more time and flung it into the river. The silver arc caught the last light and vanished beneath the black surface with a small splash. He stood motionless for a moment before sinking to his knees on the damp earth.
His voice broke the stillness. “God… Lord…” He struggled to shape the words. “Only You can save her. Only You can save me. Please. I can’t lose her too.”
Tears slid down his cheeks unchecked, and he bowed his head. There in the dark he knelt, caught between belief and fear. Faith and anguish. Wrestling not just for Eadlyn’s life, but for something deeper. Would this God hear him? Would He answer?
Finally, the tempest in Aevar’s mind quieted. Not vanish or fade entirely but settle. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel as though his fate was governed by chance or by whim but by purpose.
Dawn streaked across the treetops in soft gold and pink. Eadlyn blinked herself awake, flinching at the dull throb that pulsed behind her brows. Every muscle groaned as she pushed herself upright, the cold ground leeching heat from her bones.
Ten days. Or eleven. Maybe twelve.
She’d lost count. The blur of hunger, exhaustion, and constant vigilance had swallowed time whole.
Her limbs were leaden, her breath shallow.
When she drew her knees to her chest, she winced, and a shiver rippled through her.
The early morning chill clung to her like wet linen, seeping beneath her skin.
Tears prickled, and she blinked hard, but the ache inside her burned fiercer than ever.
Where are You, Lord?
The voice in her head barely sounded like her own anymore.
Not even during her darkest nights in Kenwich had God felt so far away.
Did He even hear her anymore? The hollow distance between herself and hope echoed inside her.
And yet, in the very next breath, she murmured, “Thou art my refuge and my portion in the land of the living.”
Footsteps broke the stillness.
Eadlyn rubbed her eyes and forced her head up.
Asfrid stood there, face unreadable as always.
She extended the usual meager offering—dried berries and a tough strip of meat.
Though Eadlyn hadn’t been full in days, exhaustion had robbed her of appetite.
Still, she took it with numb fingers and forced herself to eat.
After she finished, Asfrid led her into the woods, away from the others. The trees stood tall and still, heavy with silence, as if holding their breath. The forest was beautiful in a strange, solemn way, but even its majesty couldn’t touch the dread curdling in Eadlyn’s belly.
On the way back, Sig brushed past her. His fingers slid against her hip like grease.
A shudder of revulsion cut through her. Asfrid had protected her from assault, but not from the lingering touches whenever she wasn’t looking.
Eadlyn jerked away from him, and he chuckled under his breath.
He’d made tormenting her his daily entertainment.
Once she was on her horse, she exhaled. At least here, he couldn’t touch her, though it only meant they were continuing deeper into the north.
Farther from hope. Farther from Aevar. And now Dagr no longer hung back to obscure their trail.
Either they believed no one was following, or they were so deep into Kalgoran territory it no longer mattered.
On they rode, following no discernible path, but ever heading north as far as Eadlyn could tell.
As the miles passed, she drifted in and out of prayer, clutching verses like lifelines despite how fragile her grip felt.
My times are in thy hand: deliver me from the hand of mine enemies, and from them that persecute me.
Asfrid halted.
Eadlyn snapped to attention.
Something had shifted. The stillness was different now. Watchful. The birds had gone quiet. Eadlyn held her breath and dared to hope. Please, God…
Figures lunged from the trees, swift and dark.
The horses shrieked as the forest erupted in chaos.
A dozen Kalgoran warriors encircled them in an instant.
Eadlyn’s horse half-reared, stamping and snorting.
She clung to the saddle, panic and despair swelling like a rising tide.
All around her, foreign voices barked orders.
The unmistakable harshness of Goric made her head spin.
Asfrid raised her hand and spoke rapidly to the one who appeared to be in charge—a towering man with a bald head and a forked beard like twisted rope. When she gestured to Eadlyn, her stomach dropped.
The Kalgoran gave a grunt.
Asfrid dismounted and strode over to Eadlyn, dragging her down from the saddle. The Kalgoran commander studied her and exchanged more clipped words with Asfrid.
Tremors threatened to seize Eadlyn, but she stood straight. She wouldn’t cower.
Movement drew her attention beyond the commander.
Another figure appeared, and the hair on the back of Eadlyn’s neck rose.
A woman only about her age, draped in fur, bones, and feathers, approached.
Her long blond hair was almost as white as the paint that covered her face, though black ringed her eyes.
Dark runes inked her cheeks and brow. The strange charms sewn to her dress rattled as she moved.
This must be a seer like Heida talked about.
She paused in front of Eadlyn and stared, long and unblinking, like she was reading her soul. Even Asfrid shifted, giving the seer a wide berth. Eadlyn stood frozen under her scrutiny.
Words passed between the seer and Asfrid. Eadlyn caught none of it, but she didn’t need to. She knew. A deal was being made, and she was the price. Again. Another alliance, another transaction, but this time, against her will.
A curt nod from the seer ended the conversation and seemed to all but seal Eadlyn’s fate. The woman turned and motioned to the man behind her, who stepped forward and reached for Eadlyn.
“Wait.”
The man paused as Sig approached. He glanced warily at the seer before turning his full, undesired attention on Eadlyn. She tensed as he drew near and leaned in close.
“I didn’t get what I wanted…” he said, voice low and oozing, “but I’ll not go away empty-handed.”
He seized her arm, his fingers crushing her skin, and slid her arm ring off before she could stop him. The polished silver—Aevar’s promise to her—flashed in the morning light and vanished into his hand.
“No!” The word tore from her throat. She lunged for it, but he stepped back, grinning.
She stood helpless as he rolled it between his fingers, studying it like a prize. It wasn’t just a ring. It was Aevar. His oath. His love. Everything they’d fought for reduced to a trinket in Sig’s filthy hand. Tears blurred her vision. She wanted to scream. To claw it back.
But the Kalgoran grabbed her by the arm.
His grip was harsh and unyielding, and she stumbled as he dragged her away.
She caught Asfrid’s gaze. Something like regret or pity softened her expression, but then it hardened.
She, Dagr, and Sig turned for their horses, leaving Eadlyn alone at the mercy of her new captors.