Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Aevar’s heart thundered, the heat of battle still pulsing in his veins.
He kept his hand pressed against Eadlyn’s wounded shoulder, but he eyed her face in mounting horror.
She looked thinner, fragile in a way he had never seen before.
Her lip had split and begun to heal. Faded bruising colored one cheekbone in a sickly yellow beneath streaks of rune paint.
Her wrists, free of the ropes, were worn raw.
These weren’t just signs of captivity. They were signs of suffering.
Rage flared anew, burning up his throat.
If he hadn’t known Sig was probably already dead, he might have ridden back to finish him.
But the anger faltered the moment he spied the tears.
They trailed silently down her cheeks. Not sobs or weeping, but slow, steady tracks.
She didn’t even seem to notice them. Her face was frozen, caught somewhere between relief and utter exhaustion.
He brushed his fingers along her cheek, smearing away one of the inky runes. “Are you all right?”
She nodded against his hand. “I am now.”
A rustle made him turn. Heida approached, almost silent on the blood-spattered grass. She stepped over the seer’s body and picked up the knife that had cut Eadlyn. Aevar’s lungs seized. What if the blade was poisoned? No, please.
Heida turned the blade in her hand and rubbed the edge with her thumb. At last, she shook her head. “It doesn’t appear poisoned.”
Relief crashed over him so fast it made him dizzy. Thank you.
Fathir knelt beside them. He set down a small bag of supplies and pulled out a roll of linen. “We’ll wrap the wound and take her to Kjolur. There will be a healer there.”
Aevar shifted Eadlyn to sit straighter so they could wrap the wound more easily.
She winced, her breath hitching, and he tightened his hold on her.
His father peeled back the makeshift cloth Aevar had used, and the sight of the wound robbed him of breath.
The gash traced a deep line below her collarbone, curving dangerously toward her neck.
Another inch higher and she might have bled out before he’d been able to reach her.
His hands trembled as he helped his father wind the bandage around her shoulder, binding it tight to stop the bleeding. He could hear every shallow rise and fall of her breath and the tremor in it.
He had almost lost her.
When they finished, Aevar reached for her and gathered her into his arms. She gave a soft gasp as the motion jarred her wound but then sagged against him.
Her body, light and far too thin, curled toward his chest, and she rested her head in the crook of his neck.
The familiar scent of her hair reached him—earthy and faintly sweet despite the dirt and blood—and something about it nearly broke him.
He swallowed hard and whispered, “I’ve got you.”
She didn’t respond in words, but the way she tucked herself more fully against him said enough.
He carried her to his horse. Though she tried to help as he lifted her into the saddle, her limbs trembled too badly to hold her own weight.
She sagged once more, breath catching in pain.
Aevar climbed up behind her and settled himself so her back rested against him.
He slid his arm around her waist, anchoring her there.
She leaned into him as if she had no strength left to do anything else.
He pressed his lips to her hair. “I will never let them take you again.”
Her hand found his and clutched it. Together, they turned from the blood and horror of the clearing and rode into the trees.
Kjolur, the place where Heida had grown up, unfolded along the slope of a rugged hill, overlooking a wide, lush valley streaked gold and rust with late-summer grass.
In the distance, the river shimmered like molten copper beneath the lowering sun, its rippling surface catching every last shard of daylight.
Smoke drifted from thatched rooftops as Aevar and the others approached, the horses’ hooves crunching on packed earth as they followed the winding path through the village.
He hadn’t been here in years. Not since their last battle against Kalgora. It felt like a different life now.
As they approached the great longhouse at the center of the settlement, its carved doors swung open. Jarl Gudrik walked out, flanked by his wife, Jodis, and Heida’s brothers.
Gudrik was not a large man—shorter and leaner than Fathir or Erik—but he carried a fierce, untamed energy.
Gray streaked his dark hair, his wiry frame hardened by decades of defending the northern border and surviving.
Jodis stood beside him, tall and composed, with her silver-threaded braid resting over her shoulder.
She was the only one capable of tempering Gudrik’s recklessness when necessary.
While Heida greeted her family, Aevar slid from his horse and turned to Eadlyn. Her face pinched in pain, but before he could lift her, she laid a hand on his arm.
“I think I can walk now.”
He hesitated. Her color was still too pale, the painted runes on her face stark against skin that had lost its summer warmth.
She looked like a ghost of her former self.
But she was trying to stand. Trying to reclaim even the smallest shred of independence after everything she’d endured. He could honor that.
He helped her down, supporting her when her legs trembled under her. She stood, barely, and he kept his arm around her as they walked toward the jarl and his family.
Gudrik stepped forward, eyes sweeping over Eadlyn with open concern. “Princess Eadlyn. Praise the gods you survived.”
Praise God. Aevar startled at how natural that thought felt. Not only to think it, but to mean it.
Eadlyn offered a faint smile, and Gudrik and Jodis led them inside the longhouse, its warm interior lit with lamps and flickering firelight. One of Heida’s brothers hurried off to fetch the healer while Jodis guided them through the central hall to a quiet room off the corridor.
“The healer will be here shortly,” she said. “I’ll bring fresh clothes.”
Once the door shut behind her, Aevar helped Eadlyn sit on the edge of the bed.
She sank down, stiff with pain. He knelt before her and gathered her hands in his, seeing again how raw her wrists were.
The sight of them reignited the fury simmering in his chest, but he forced it down. She didn’t need his anger right now.
“Is there anything you need me to do?”
She nodded, but all she said was, “Just stay with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He tightened his grip around her hands to prove it.
Tears rose too quickly for her to hide. She blinked them back, but the effort cost her. She darted a look toward the door, her voice low and wary. “Where is Sig? He was one of the three who took me, but I didn’t see him.”
“He’s dead.”
She exhaled a long, trembling breath, and her shoulders sagged. The relief on her face was immediate, but it only made Aevar’s own tension return.
“Did he hurt you?”
She met his gaze, pain behind her eyes. “He hit me a couple of times…kept putting his hands on me, but nothing more.”
The breath rushed out of Aevar’s lungs. It wasn’t good, but it could have been so much worse. That woman had told the truth.
“Oda was in on it too,” Eadlyn whispered. “She told them where to find me.”
Aevar fought to quell the anger that kept being fueled. He should have suspected that. “We’ll deal with her when we get back.”
Footsteps approached, and Jodis returned, bringing the healer and Heida.
The healer, a stooped woman with a kind manner, began working without fuss.
As she helped Eadlyn ease out of her ruined dress and shift, Aevar remained beside her on the bed, letting her lean into him as he kept his arm secure around her back.
When the woman peeled the stiffened fabric from the wound, Eadlyn turned her face into Aevar’s shoulder with a shudder.
She didn’t cry out, but he tightened his arm around her.
As the healer threaded her needle, he murmured words of comfort to Eadlyn to remind her he was there. After stitching the wound, the healer applied salve and wrapped it, then moved to her wrists, bandaging those too.
She then handed Aevar a fresh cloth and poured another bowl of clean water. “I’ll let you finish,” she said, motioning to the marks on Eadlyn’s face. “And she should wear a sling for a few days. It will help with the pain. I’ll come back to check her wound in the morning.”
Aevar thanked her, and the healer departed with Jodis, but Heida lingered.
“Do you need anything?” she asked.
Aevar glanced at Eadlyn, noticing the way her cheeks were hollowed. “Yes. Food.”
Heida nodded and left.
Now that they were alone again, Aevar dipped the cloth in the water and washed the black death runes from Eadlyn’s skin.
The ink had dried and crusted, and he worked gently, though his hands shook as he revealed every new bruise and scratch beneath the marks.
Each one was a record of his failure to protect her.
Yet also proof she had survived.
Afterward, he helped her into the clean shift Jodis had left.
A few minutes later, Heida returned with a tray of meat, cheese, soft bread, and a pitcher of water.
She didn’t speak as she set it down, but Aevar caught the look she gave Eadlyn and the flicker of guilt buried beneath the usual calm. She turned and left without a word.
At first, Eadlyn only picked at the food, her face drawn with exhaustion, but Aevar coaxed her to eat.
Once she began, her appetite returned, and it became clear how little she’d been given.
She finished most of what he placed before her, and he was glad for it.
By the time she set the last bite aside, her head drooped, and the shadows under her eyes darkened.
“You need to rest.”
She nodded and shifted carefully, lowering herself back against the pillows without jarring her shoulder. Her gaze found his, soft and pleading.
“Do you have to leave? Or can you stay with me?”
“I’m staying.” No force on this earth could take him away from her.
He stripped off his boots and armor and slid in beside her.
She turned to him, and he reached out, brushing his thumb across the fading bruise on her cheek.
Though he believed he’d done the right thing in not finishing Sig off, part of him still itched to have put his sword through the man’s heart for what he’d done.
Eadlyn’s voice came in a hush, shaky at the edges. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
A ragged breath escaped him. “Neither did I.”
Tears dribbled from the corners of her eyes, and she whispered, “Kiss me so I know you’re really here.”
He did.
The kiss was soft at first, careful. Then deeper and fuller until the horror of the last ten days blurred.
She gripped his tunic, drawing herself to him, and he wrapped his arm around her, mindful of her wounds.
He stroked her hair, his breath mingling with hers, and a steady calm settled over him, tension melting for the first time since she’d vanished from his life.