Chapter 24
Isnap my new journal closed. Though I still write nearly every day, I leave out anything I wouldn’t want made public.
“Who is it?” I call out.
“Saga.”
I assume Nordin sent her. I try to slide the trunk Mor slipped in front of our door as quietly as possible, but it creaks on the hardwood. My mother springs out of bed, claws gleaming on her fingertips, eyes wild with panic.
“It’s Saga,” I tell her.
Mor’s pulse point is slow to stop kicking. “Are the Ravines gone?” she asks, voice as rumpled as the clothes she slept in.
“Yes. They just left,” Saga says as I finally get the door open. “Nordin escorted them back to Meadowpoint.”
“So…? What terms were agreed upon?”
“I don’t know yet.” Saga sweeps a hand through her white locks. “Far wanted to see you, Eira.”
“Why?” Mor and I ask in unison, our voices shrill with nerves.
“Don’t know, but he said not to worry.”
Mor plucks her coat, then tosses me mine.
“Just you for now, Eira,” Saga says before turning to me. “Zas, come with me? I need to go set Nika free.”
“Set her free?” I ask as Mor stalks out the door, shape-shifts, and leaps away.
“From her hiding spot.” Saga joggles her head. “Rejected mates and all that…”
Since I don’t feel like seeing Nika, I feign drowsiness. The instant Saga’s gone, I don my gloves, cloak, and boots and bolt into the glacial darkness. I take off running toward Nordin’s home. I want to be there when he gets back.
My heart pounds so violently by the time I reach his door that the inside of my mouth tastes like my casting mold. I don’t knock, just barge right in. And then I freeze, my gloved hand still attached to the knob.
Saga lurches off the bench. Her mouth moves, but her words don’t penetrate, because across from her sits Nika Krosson.
What is Nika doing in Nordin’s home? And…and is she sporting one of his tunics?
The blood rushes through my veins at such velocity that it blisters my skin.
“Did something happen?” Saga’s words finally land.
“Sorry.” I slide my lips together. “No.”
Saga arches one eyebrow. “Then why do you look about ready to commit murder?”
Because Nika’s wearing a man’s shirt, one that I assume must be Nordin’s.
Because the sheets atop his cot are rumpled, which means she slept here. And yes, I’m aware he was at the longhouse most of the night, but I’m still horridly jealous that another female laid in his bed.
I do my best to school the jealousy out of my features. “I realized there was no way I could rest until I heard how the talks went.”
“I know how they went,” Nika says. “Nordin told me before heading off with Havrik.”
With astounding calm, I ask, “What did your mate demand?”
Nika sucks her upper lip between her teeth. “Havrik’s not my mate.”
Nordin isn’t either.
“Havrik wants a durable alliance with the Vales through marriage,” Nika says. “He’s willing to take your mother as his mate if you should refuse. He’s given your uncle until next month to pick.”
Is that why Ulf wanted to see Mor alone? I pray she’s not entertaining it…
“That’s preposterous!” Saga’s mouth pops open. “The male’s delusional if he thinks my father would force either Zas’s or Eira’s hand.”
Nika sighs. “Delusional, but he’s a Jarl, Saga. He could make your father’s life—your entire pack’s life—Hel. Besides, it’s a small price to pay to give him what he has openly coveted since he rose to power.” She pauses, as though savoring the suspense. “Your clan’s passage to the Wilds.”
“Small price?” I squawk.
“Marital unions are the surest deterrent to war.”
I whirl toward Saga. Why isn’t she outraged by Nika’s recommendation? I find her staring off into space, as though Ulf were pouring words into the mind link. Is he? My tongue suddenly feels as heavy as the tongs I use at the kiln.
Her eyes suddenly tighten on the dust motes dancing around the hearth. “I have the perfect solution!” Her voice is so loud I startle. “I’ll marry him.”
I jolt again, but not because of her pitch this time. “Saga, no!”
A smile crooks my cousin’s lips as she settles back down on the bench, one leg curled underneath her.
“Wait for the rest of the plan… On our mating night, when the berserker thinks he’s got me, I scalp him and…
” She mimics slicing up his neck. “Ladies, you might just be sitting with the next Jarl of the Ravines.”
“What if he scalps you first?” I hiss. Especially since all Havrik would need to do is flay a single strip from Saga’s scalp. Whereas to kill an Alpha, every root must be excised.
“It’s too much of a risk, Saga,” Nika says. “The male’s a wild card and regrettably cunning.”
Funny how she has no issue urging my mother or I to marry the man, yet Saga is off-limits. Predictable I suppose. After all, she wants Nordin, and Saga is his sister. In her eyes, I’m merely the foolish cousin.
Saga’s delight dims. “Well, I’m not letting Zas or Eira end up with him.”
“Why can’t he just stab me with a silver blade in the thigh, and we call it even?” I bluster.
Saga holds my stare, knowing full well why I’m not more anxious at the prospect of getting cut with silver. “Over my dead body will I let that madman hold a knife to your skin.”
Nika sighs, and it jostles the opalescent stone I wish I could clip off her neck. “I agree with Saga. Havrik’s too impulsive.”
Now she agrees…? Could the Fjord shifter be any more fickle?
“I won’t let anyone else get hurt for something I did, Saga.”
“Nordin seemed confident he’d find another solution anyway.” Nika takes a sip from a mug filled with a steaming liquid that smells sweet and tangy, like lingonberry tea—Nordin’s favorite.
Did he make it for her? Did she brew it herself?
“I wouldn’t worry if I were you,” she continues. “Your cousin is brilliant and resourceful.”
“I know. I grew up with him,” I say, feeling exceedingly territorial.
Saga watches me with perplexing intensity. “Zas, I know you’re exhausted and nervous, but don’t take it out on Nika.”
Nika raises one palm in the air. “It’s all right. If I’d brought harm upon my pack, I would’ve been beside myself too.”
Saga’s head swivels toward Nika. “Zas didn’t bring harm upon the pack. Havrik brought the fucking harm.”
Gods, I love Saga. I want to thank her for having my back, but before I can say anything, the door swings inward.
Nordin enters, complexion flushed from his brisk run, eyes bright despite the long night. When he finds me there, surprise ripples across his features and dims his lambent stare.
I can tell he isn’t happy I’m here. But why? Because he wanted me to stay put? Because he didn’t want me to find out that Nika spent the night? Because I’m the reason Havrik set foot in the valley?
Before I can attempt to grasp what’s scrolling through his mind, he stalks deeper into his home.
“I filled them in.” Nika trails his every movement with an intensity that makes my molars grind.
If I had any doubts about her having given up hope before, I have none left at present. She’s come back on a mission to win over Nordin.
“What is Far thinking?” Saga asks, drawing the leg she isn’t sitting on into her chest and plopping her chin atop her knee.
Nordin grabs a bar of soap, then rubs it between his palms until a lather forms. “Far is thinking that Eira should consider the match. That it could be good for pack relations.”
I suck in air.
Saga gasps. “Is he insane?”
“She should consider it for Zaskja, or for herself?” Nika asks.
Nordin glances away from the washbasin. “For my aunt, who said she’d sooner kill Varganson than marry him.” His eyes cut to me. Land. Suffocate me with a weight that makes me feel unwelcome and inconvenient. “I asked you not to leave your house until I came to fetch you, yet you’re here…”
My lids tic from his subtle scolding. Although tempted to shrink back, I stand my ground. “I only left when Saga came to tell me it was over.”
A spasm disrupts the hard line of his jaw.
“I can’t believe Far would even entertain Varganson’s demands,” Saga muses, oblivious to the tension stretching between her brother and me.
Unlike Nika, who keeps looking between us.
“If you all don’t mind, I’d like to try to catch a few hours of sleep,” Nordin says.
I desperately want him to ask me to stay behind for a chat. I wouldn’t even care if he made it sound like he were about to chastise me. But I’m dismissed like the others.
Saga stands and walks to the door, hooking my arm on the way. “Let’s go have breakfast. I’m starving. Nika?”
Nika takes a sip of her tea. “I’ll be right behind you. Just need to get dressed.”
I will Nordin to tell her to get on with it, or to follow us outside while she puts her clothes back on, but instead, he rolls off his tunic, then drops onto his armchair to drag his boots off.
My archenemy peers at him, then at me, then back at him and keeps her stare anchored there…to my wolf. Forget clipping her necklace… I want to wrench it off and leave bruises in its wake.
Even if Nordin has no feelings toward Nika, I hate that he’s letting her linger.
Especially when Nika doesn’t join us at breakfast. I may not have been eager to spend time with her, but I’d have preferred that to wondering if she curled up beside Nordin. Especially after Saga suggests Nordin might be giving the Fjord shifter a second chance after all.
When I emerge from the longhouse, I squint at the pearlescent valley. The cresting sun might banish the gloom outside, but it does nothing to quell the one clinging to my mood. I hesitate to return to Nordin’s home but smother my ridiculous jealousy. He made me a promise.
Still, I fume.
My foul mood clings to my skin like perspiration, soaking into the atmosphere. An hour into working side by side, Koppar reminds me that he’s a good listener. I thank him but don’t share my troubles.
Mor brings me lunch, then takes a seat and chats with her friend, gaze straying toward where I sit quietly, wolfing down big bites to make my meal go by quicker.
She loiters in the forge long after my plate is clean, sorting my little opal beads by size until Sigrid comes to fetch her to help gather provisions.
Although I greet my aunt politely, she stays frostily quiet with me.
I imagine because I brought Havrik to her door, although perhaps her displeasure has to do with Nika not becoming her daughter-in-law.
I don’t care to find out at the moment. Especially since it’s only a matter of time until I do.
Like Saga, when Sigrid has something to say, she’ll say it. And she won’t mince her words.
All afternoon, I eye the door, expecting Sigrid to storm back inside. She never does. I’m starting to think I misread her earlier.
“Time for bed, Zas,” my smith master says, dimming the lanterns. “We’ll finish up in the morning.”
“You do remember that I’m not one of your pups?”
He shoots me a crooked smile that jostles his handlebar mustache. “Doesn’t mean I can’t look out for you.”
I swallow. “I’ll be right behind you. I want to finish hammering these last links.”
He sighs, haunting the doorway for so long that I finally look up from the softened gold bar I’m forcing through the largest hole of our drawplate with a pair of heavy-duty pliers.
“I promise I’m all right, Koppar.”
He twists his lips, clearly unconvinced.
“If it makes you feel any better, you know Mor won’t be going to bed until I come home.”
“It does.” He slides out the metal prong he uses to bind his long hair while he works, then drags his fingers through his black locks. “Varganson is a contemptible piece of shit.”
His comment pokes a hole into my foul mood, and I smile. “Why, Koppar, did you just swear?”
“The only thing that male deserves is a full shearing.”
“Agreed.” The deep voice that echoes Koppar’s thoughts knocks the smile off my face.