Chapter 33
Nordin’s exile ends today.
Never has time stretched by so slowly.
Not even Mor and Vanoo’s constant presence has managed to ease the ache in my chest.
When Mor leaves that morning to gather more wild flora for the tinctures and ointments she’s been brewing all week—most of which she intends to trade for a drakkar—I walk to the field with Vanoo, the one with the unhindered view on the pass.
Near sundown, a furred beast races down the mountainside, swirling the beats of my heart. I scour the path for a second werewolf, and I’m still scouring it when Saga erupts from fur to skin.
I hug her tight, willing away the disappointment that her brother isn’t at her side. “Where’s Nordin?”
Saga and Vanoo exchange a glance.
When their silence endures, the knot that formed in my stomach the day of Nordin’s banishment tightens. “Did something happen to him? Did Ulf prolong his exile?”
“No to both.” Saga smiles. “Nordin’s fine.”
“You swear?”
“I swear.” She squeezes my shoulder. “The Sons of Odin kept away.”
“Then why isn’t your brother here?”
“Because he was trying to find something of yours, which he lost the night of your grand escape. Ring a bell?”
My dagger. My arrows. My rucksack.
As my nerves finally quiet, I nod, returning my gaze to the snowcapped summits. “Can you tell him it’s not important, and that I’d rather he come home?”
“I’ll let Vanoo do that. I am so over the fur life right now.” Saga links her arm through mine. “Later, Van. Thanks for keeping Zas in one piece.” And then she tugs me toward her house. “So, what did I miss?”
I fill Saga in on everything. From Mor’s desire to take me to Ljosam?r by drakkar to her inimical run-ins with Vaelen Blaka, whom I worry she’ll end up killing.
Though the first part doesn’t amuse Saga, the second part makes her laugh. I find myself unable to partake in her delight, partly because the vampyr’s death would turn the siege into a full-blown war, and partly because my frustration with the Blaka brothers is at an all-time high.
I’ve combed the whole valley for Kjell—it isn’t as though I can do much of anything with a broken wrist other than wander.
Yes, Vanoo shadowed me every step of the way, none the wiser about my motive, but in no way did his presence hinder me.
Quite the opposite, for I decided that if he steered me away from a particular spot, then that spot would probably be my destination.
Turns out Vanoo didn’t know where Nordin had stashed Kjell. I realized this midweek, when my guard offhandedly remarked how convenient it’d be if we stumbled across the prisoner, whose life he’d like nothing more than to snuff out. Like Nordin, he doesn’t trust Odin’s Sons.
“Shit, it’s ?rrot.” Saga’s voice draws me out of my thoughts. “I almost forgot.” She presses her lips together as she gazes at Meadowpoint, which her mother has transformed into an outdoor banquet hall, complete with log tables and torches that drip with fire.
I tilt my head. “You love ?rrot.”
“I’m not really in the mood to celebrate my father and his reign tonight. Not until he apologizes to Nordin.”
I’m admittedly not in the mood to celebrate the man who tried to rid Midgard of me. Nevertheless, since Ulf altered my birth date on the beam of life, I don’t have much of a choice when it comes to making an appearance.
She sighs. “I’m tempted to skip, but that won’t help matters, will it?”
“Maybe Nordin will be back by then?”
Saga snorts. “I doubt he’s forgotten what day it is. That’s probably why he wasn’t ready to come back.”
Come home to me, my Wolf, I mouth, my silent entreaty fogging the sharp midday light.
Nordin doesn’t come home.
At least not by the time dusk has draped over the valley, and both Vanoo and Saga have come to fetch me, reluctant as I am to revel.
Since I can’t maneuver my bad arm through the sleeve, I clasp my coat around my shoulders like a cape. As we walk toward the festivities, I hunt the surrounding trees and roads for Nordin, but no blinding hair or bright fur whitens the indigo air.
By the time we arrive at Meadowpoint, the party is in full swing. Being around such a large crowd makes my heart twang like those lyre strings being plucked by a group of performers.
“Were the Ravines invited?” I ask as I observe the array of shifters, recognizing a few Fjords, a couple of Firs, and a handful of Glaciers.
Saga grimaces. “I’d hope my father wouldn’t have invited anyone from that horrid pack.”
“They’re not all horrid, Saga,” Vanoo murmurs.
“You’re right. That was harsh of me. But obviously, it’s impossible to invite members of the pack without inviting their Alpha.”
I sit with that for a moment, imagining what it’s like to suffer consequences not for your own actions, but for those of your leader.
“Can you stop being such a creep, Ty?” Saga snaps.
I follow her gaze to the nearby tree against which Tyron lounges, sipping from a stein, watching us.
Firelight drips over his shorn locks and piercing stare.
When he makes no move to relocate, Saga enfolds my good hand and tows me nearer to the split log that doubles as a bar tonight.
She grabs herself a glass of mead while I select water.
I don’t feel like drinking alcohol tonight, because drinking feels celebratory, and I’m in no mood for that. I’m surprised anyone’s in the mood.
Then again, judging by the sheer volume of skewered meat and vegetables roasting over the giant firepit, there’s no rationing tonight. Sigrid and Ulf must be confident I’ll provide them with Kjell’s location soon, and thus put an end to the vampyrs’ siege.
I think of the latest pro I’ve recently added to my list: It’ll get Vaelen Blaka away from the valley and from my mother. I’ve yet to meet the male but can only imagine that if Taeric made him general, then he must be a brute.
“I’m sorry you’re stuck in the middle of this,” I murmur, about to dip my lips into my glass when Vanoo snatches it from my fingers.
He takes an initial sip like he’s done with all my food and beverages lately. When he passes it back, I moisten my parched throat with a sip.
“In the middle?” Saga scoffs. “I’m not in the middle of anything, Zas.
I’m on your side. Firmly on your side.” She flicks a white tendril over her shoulder.
“The others are delusional if they think Kjell will return to Hasam?r with his tail between his legs and never seek vengeance on those involved in his capture”—her eyes cut to Vanoo—“and in his dragon’s death. ”
I wonder how she’ll react once she learns that her parents are part of the others.
“Or they aren’t under any delusion,” I suggest.
“That would mean…” Saga’s lids reel upward. “Do you realize what that would mean?”
“Hopefully, I’m wrong.” Though I’m convinced no one would care if the Sons of Odin hurt me and—possibly—Vanoo, I’d like to believe they’d care about Nordin.
“You better be wrong or I’ll be bringing the Council many of our so-called sisters and brothers for a much-needed hair trimming.”
I take another sip of my water just as the sound of pawfalls vibrates the tunnel nearest us—the one that leads into Ravine territory.
Saga pales. “If my parents invited that asshole…” She pivots and stalks off toward her parents, white braid flogging her taut spine. I find Mor doing the same.
When the wolves melt into three hateful men, Vanoo steps nearer to me.
I take another sip, the icy gulp settling like muck in my growling stomach.
Because I’m not a shifter, my caloric intake has been reduced to such a pittance that I’m hungry from dawn to dusk.
Not that I’ve helped matters, sharing scraps with Mor and Vanoo, pretending my broken wrist broke my appetite.
Someone grazes my arm. It’s Koppar holding two of his three babes, one in each arm. Even though Havrik’s arrival has filled me with disquiet, I muster a smile.
“Planning on coming back to the forge at some point?” my smith master asks as I trace the shape of his sons’ peaked ears with my eyes.
I still marvel at the fact that a human mother can produce supernatural children.
“As soon as my wrist heals. If you still want me there, that is?” I set my glass down to scrape a slight caress on the raven tufts crowning his sons’ tiny heads.
“Why on earth wouldn’t I want you there?”
I know Koppar spends most of his time between the forge and his home, but he has to be aware of what’s happening and why.
He must put two and two together because he says, “The vampyrs’ siege isn’t your fault, Zaskja.”
Gratitude wells behind my ribs but floods right out when he glares at Vanoo.
The large male at my side crosses his arms. “We had our reasons to attack.” He leaves it at that, though I sense Koppar would very much like to be apprised of those reasons.
“Well, Nordin shouldn’t have captured the vampyr, much less brought him back here. I know I helped build the prisoner’s shackles and cell, but I voted in favor of his release during the last Council meeting.”
I swipe my tongue over my lips. “If they’d left him maimed in the Wilds, Kjell would’ve sought revenge.”
“His king would’ve kept him in check, because the last thing the vampyrs need is another warfront.”
“What makes you trust Skarnir so blindly?” I challenge.
One of the babies fusses.
Koppar leans over to press a kiss to his son’s pleated brow. “I don’t trust him. I trust our Alpha, who vouches for Skarnir.”
“What happens once the Vampyr King dies? Do you trust Vaelen Blaka to keep his brother in check?” Vanoo’s derisive tone speaks volumes about his opinion. “Do you trust Vaelen Blaka, period?”
Koppar frowns. “Dies?”
“Skarnir’s cursed.” Vanoo’s attention skips between Koppar, me, and the redheaded Ravine Alpha exchanging what sounds like pleasantries—but obviously mustn’t be—with my family.
Quietly, Koppar says, “I have it on good authority Skarnir’s close to breaking his curse.”
My heartbeats ravel. “You mean, he’s almost done razing House Thorn?”
He nods.
Vanoo pivots, giving the heated conversation happening at the heart of Meadowpoint his entire focus now.