Chapter 29
My mother believes Nika is the one who poisoned me.
When she suggested discussing it with Ulf, I asked to be present. I also requested that Nordin not be convened to the conversation.
“I want her immediate expulsion, Bror.” Mor crosses her legs and bobs her knee. To think that a week ago, I was the one denting the leather seat she’s presently occupying.
“To expel her, I need proof of foul play.” My uncle, who’s barely looked at me since I entered his private quarters, twists a finger in his glass, churning the chunks of ice in his aquavit.
“I’ll get you proof,” my mother gusts out with much vigor.
“No. I’ll do it, Eira.” He flicks his stare toward where I stand, leaning against a wall, one foot propped nonchalantly on the pelt covering the shiplap. “It’s my role as Alpha to protect my pack.”
“Zaskja is my daughter.”
“Don’t undermine my authority, Syster.” His pitch is so severe that it disturbs the heavy fur drapes that separate the sleeping hall from the main hall.
“I will take care of getting to the root of who harmed my niece, and then I will deal with the culprit accordingly. You’ll be the first to know all I find out.
” His glacial eyes probe mine, pitching me back to my nightmare, the one where he delivered me to Taeric.
“You truly don’t remember anything from that night, Zaskja? ”
Oh, I remember everything, Morbror… “I recall supping at the longhouse with Saga, but nothing after that. I’m not even certain how I got home. Saga says I went off on my own.” I mark a pause before suggesting, “Maybe a shifter saw me? Could you ask through the pack link?”
“Don’t you think that was the first thing I did when Eira told me you were sick?”
I wonder if anyone reported seeing me enter his house. I dip into my mind in an attempt to recall whether I crossed paths with anyone that night.
It was snowing. I remember that much. Even if I’d passed someone on the road, the night was so dark and the flakes so thick, I’d have looked like a specter.
Ulf takes a deep drink from his tumbler. “I wouldn’t put it past Taeric to have poisoned our streams to get us to comply with his demands.”
“Wouldn’t others have gotten sick?” Mor asks.
“They could’ve dropped iron into our streams…” Ulf glances toward his skylight at the waning moon beyond. “Taeric knows we harbor one.”
“Not for certain.” The tremor in Mor’s pitch is reflected in the vein at her temple.
“I’m afraid he does.” My uncle sets down his empty cup on the metal chest he uses as a low table, the one Koppar crafted the year I started my apprenticeship.
“How much iron would he have had to drop for it to affect me?” I pretend to entertain his idea.
Ulf sighs. “You’re right. That was probably a stretch.”
More like a fucking leap… I lower my foot and uncross my arms. “Could Havrik be to blame?”
Mor looks over her shoulder at me. “Havrik?”
“I haven’t excluded the possibility.” My uncle grips the glass bottle of aquavit by its slender neck and wrings what’s left inside his cup.
“Although he’d like me to send one of you to his pack—” His gaze tapers on his sister.
“Don’t give me that look, Eira. I told you I wouldn’t.
” He seizes his half-filled glass and sits back, crossing his thick legs.
“Havrik is petty like that. If he can’t have something, he doesn’t want anyone else to possess that thing. ”
I’m a thing now?
“If it was him, I will murder him, and I dare anyone to stop me,” Mor growls.
My uncle and I exchange a look. We might not see eye to eye on much these days, but we both love Mor and would do anything to keep her from harm.
The front door suddenly flies open. I expect a scowling shifter with white hair to loom in the threshold, but thankfully, it’s not Nordin.
Sigrid flicks snow off her brown locks. “I’ve instructed the wolves overseeing the kitchen of the new rations.”
“New rations?” I repeat.
My aunt’s already sharp features turn downright bladed. Where Bjorn had been her spitting image, Saga and Nordin inherited their father’s wider face, softer features, and blinding hair.
“The vampyrs are taking all the wild game for their beasts”—she perches on the arm of Ulf’s seat—“leaving nothing for us.” She stares straight at me, clearly holding me accountable.
Mor can tell as well, because she hisses, “It’s not my daughter’s fault, Sigrid.”
“Isn’t it? If she hadn’t gone into the Wilds—”
“She’s been cooped up in this valley for almost her whole life!” Mor counters. “Of course she’d want to wander.”
“Enough!” My uncle’s voice rumbles through the small room like a peal of faraway thunder.
After pinching, Sigrid’s lips part to say, “You have to convince Nordin to release the vampyr, Ulf.”
“Don’t you think I’ve tried, my love?” A shadow slashes across my uncle’s weathered face. Although immortal, time and duty have left their traces on his features, graying his beard and deepening the fine lines bracketing his mouth and eyes. “He’s more stubborn than you are.”
Her face softens, but the softness lasts for only an instant. “The cooks say we have a month of meat left. And that’s including all the goats of age to be slaughtered.”
My mother blows air out of the corner of her lips. “Has it occurred to any of you that Kjell could take revenge on the wolves involved in the death of his dragon?”
My uncle rolls his lips. “The contemplation hasn’t only crossed my mind, Eira, it haunts it. But Skarnir has promised to keep his man in check.”
“You’ve discussed it with him?” Mor exclaims.
“Of course I’ve discussed it with him. It’s called a negotiation.”
“Don’t talk down to me,” she snaps in a way that so few can without consequence.
“All I’m saying is that, although Skarnir might be a barbarian, he’s a principled one.
He swore that if we released Blaka, then he would pull out of the Wilds and keep the young vampyr from seeking revenge.
But if Blaka did come back, then his fate would be in Nordin’s hands, and we all know the young bloodsucker wouldn’t stand a chance against my son. ”
“Then why haven’t you freed him?” I ask.
“Zaskja!” My mother whirls toward me, eyes so wide her honeyed irises get lost in a sea of bloodshot white.
“Because Nordin moved the prisoner, and I haven’t been able to penetrate his mind to find out where.” Ulf cants his head. “Perhaps he’d tell you?”
“Why would he tell her?” Sigrid asks, apparently unaware of my privileged connection to her son.
How interesting that Ulf hasn’t told her…
The blood drains from Mor’s face before swarming back into it. “Are you mad, Ulf?” she shrieks while I hold my uncle’s gaze, realizing that I’ve suddenly become useful to him, and people don’t try to kill useful people.
Sigrid’s brown eyes spangle with a sentiment akin to hope. “The vampyr doesn’t know for certain that Zaskja is a valkyrie, Eira.”
“According to Ulf, Skarnir does.” Mor’s tone flays the air.
My aunt shrugs. “As long as Zaskja stays put in the valley, no harm can befall her.”
“How could you suggest such a thing, Sigrid?” My aunt’s name springs off my mother’s tongue like a slap.
“That she stay put?”
My mother shakes her head, which disturbs her dark locks. “No. That we’d free someone who could hurt our children! You all may trust Taeric Skarnir, but I don’t. Not with my child.”
“I can suggest such a thing because I care about keeping our pack free of starvation, Eira. I find it alarming that you don’t.”
“Doesn’t Kjell share a connection with Tyron now that he’s bitten him?” My tenor is so cool and calm, it glides through the heated air like a breeze on a summer’s day.
“He does,” Ulf replies slowly, “but Blaka has been unresponsive, which leads us to think Nordin incapacitated him again.”
My stomach churns at the memory of the vampyr’s half-chewed neck. “Are we sure he’s still alive?”
Ulf’s lips flatten. “Nordin swore he was.”
After a beat, I ask another question. One that drops like a stone in the tense hush, creating ripples that echo across Mor’s expression. “Isn’t the Vampyr King cursed to perish eventually?”
“Eventually could be years, Zaskja,” she says. “Or never. He’s somehow living with the curse just fine.”
“Saga mentioned all the others were dead, so it’s surely a matter of time, no?”
Ulf swirls the ice in his tumbler, takes a sip, then passes the drink to his mate.
After Sigrid wets her throat, she says, “Zaskja’s got a point, Eira. The curse took one of his eyes. For all we know, it’ll take his heart next.”
“For all we know…” Mor mutters, outrage chiseling her features.
As she bickers with Sigrid, I scrutinize Ulf, who does the same to me. He cannot talk into my mind, yet I can feel him rooting around, trying to uncover my thoughts.
“Your brother is Alpha, Eira!” Sigrid snaps. “He needs to put the pack first.”
My mother’s shoulders tighten. “I never realized how willing you were to sacrifice my child.”
My aunt purses her lips.
“We’re talking about freeing a prisoner,” Ulf says calmly. “Not about sacrificing our niece.”
Mor redirects the full force of her ire on him.
“Except your niece’s death would solve many of your current problems, wouldn’t it?
” She holds up one hand, then counts three names on her fingers.
“Havrik, Nordin, Skarnir.” And then she slaps the armrest of her seat and uses the momentum to propel herself up.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d blame you for the poisoning. ”
“Eira!” Sigrid gasps. “How dare you suggest such a thing!”
I study Ulf’s reaction, scavenging his features for a tell that her words have needled a sore spot.
Though his jaw has sharpened, when he speaks, his tone is painfully mild. “She’s rattled, my love. If someone had tried to poison our children, we too would be.”
“We wouldn’t be lobbing accusations at our own flesh and blood!”
His fingers dance along Sigrid’s thigh. “We might.”
“Mor, why don’t you think the Vampyr King will return to Hasam?r and leave me be?”
My mother glowers at the black bear rug that stretches from one end of the living area to the other. The creature had been the size of two wolves, yet it had taken only one to fell him—Ulf. Everyone has heard the story of his valiant battle and sweeping success.
“Because vampyrs hate valkyries,” she mutters, tracing the dead animal’s claws as though deadlier ones didn’t grace her paws.
“They might hate my kind, but surely they won’t hate me? Especially if I help free Kjell.”
She closes the distance between us, her stare lambent with agitation and pink from popped vessels.
“Ulf can explain that I was raised by wolves and have no magic. In other words, I don’t represent a threat to vampyrs.”
“We’ll find another way to placate Taeric.” My mother’s desperation makes her clutch my hand so hard it creases my leather gloves. “Or we’ll just live off fish and greens for a while. Spring is upon us. The land gives us so much during the warm months.”
“Fine.” Ulf sighs. “We’ll wait until autumn. If by then, the Sons of Odin are still emptying the Wilds and Nordin still refuses to free the prisoner, we’ll reconvene. Does that suit you, Eira?”
My mother’s resounding silence speaks volumes on whether that suits her: It doesn’t. Come autumn, we’ll stand at the same impasse.
If I still stand, that is.
“Can we make peace now?” he asks. “I have enough fights to wage outside of our family. Especially if Klovir’s daughter harmed one of our own.”
“Nika?” Sigrid’s head rears back.
After filling her in through their mind link, Ulf says, “Actually, Eira…I’ve changed my mind about confronting her alone. Fetch her and we’ll interrogate her together.”
My mother gulps down his peace offering, hook, line, and sinker, releasing my hand so fast, it slaps my thigh.
Before I can take a step to follow her out the door, my uncle’s voice rings out anew. “Zaskja?”
I look over my shoulder at him.
“We can’t afford to wait until autumn,” he murmurs, making me realize he sent Mor away to get me alone. “If you could find out where Nordin stashed Kjell, you’d be saving the Vales not only from starvation but also from disputes with the other packs.”
“Again, why are you so certain he’d confide in her more than in Vanoo?” Sigrid waves her hand. “Or Saga?”
“Because Zaskja’s the only person in the pack he’ll never suspect of trying to free Kjell.” My uncle curls one of his arms around his mate’s back. “If you help, Sigrid and I will make sure Taeric knows how charitable you were. Like I mentioned earlier, the male is principled.”
I tap a finger against my thigh as I turn his offer over. It feels more like a win for him than—
I suddenly see a way to spin this to my advantage. “Get Havrik Varganson away from Mor and me for good—”
“Consider it done.”
“…and amend my birth year on the longhouse’s beam. Once you’ve seen to both, I’ll get you Kjell’s location.”
Ulf’s pupils shrink in displeasure, for he knows why I want to be aged up.
“Your birth year?” Sigrid asks.
“Yes. Just by one year.”
Ulf works his jaw from side to side.
“Why?” Sigrid asks.
“I want to be in charge of my destiny,” I lie. What I want is to protect Nordin from losing his bid to become the next Vale Alpha if word of our involvement gets out.
“The Council might demand an explanation,” Ulf grumbles.
I tip my head. “You can tell them that you received a reply to the letter you sent to the Ljosam?ris, and they confirmed I was six when I vanished.”
My uncle’s posture goes so stiff that I feel both victorious and disappointed.
Disappointed, because he knows precisely what letter I’m referring to, which means he was the one to dose my drink.
Victorious, because he’s going to take me up on my bargain to keep the rest of our family in the dark about his attempt on my life.
Confusion furrows Sigrid’s forehead. “What letter?”
Ulf’s lids spasm.
I raise a smile as false as my uncle’s affection for me. “A fictive one, naturally. Ulf would never risk one of his wolves’ lives to get a letter across the Wilds and into the hands of a valkyrie.”
Like an icy draft, the fever dream of Ulf delivering me to Taeric slicks across my skin. Could it be an omen of what’s to come?