Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
Elara
The scent of ashen cedar permeated the air, dragging her from blissfully dreamless sleep. A warm, heavy weight lay draped over her, their legs entwined in a single tangled mass beneath the furs.
Her blood hummed with a delicious ache, one that pushed her to succumb to her exhaustion, curled against him.
A quiet, possessive sigh slipped from her as she traced the line of Njáll’s jaw with the tip of her index finger.
Her lashes fluttered, and a harsh groan rolled from Njáll, his body still in sleep.
The scar bisecting his torso shimmered like a crevice in stone, speaking to the two conflicting parts of him—warrior and protector.
The tip of her tongue traced her still swollen lips. Blush crept up her nape at the image of Njáll on his knees, drinking from her.
An insistent throb pulsed between her legs, the memory of his cock stretching her like a brand. She squirmed, trying to alleviate the soreness stinging her.
Njáll stirred, his usually sharp eyes softened by a glaze of contentment. A pleased growl rumbled in his chest, his palms skimming her curves and brushing the underside of her breasts.
Something between a moan and a sigh met his touch.
Teeth grazed her pulse, his lips closing in a lazy kiss along the column of her throat.
“My little flame,” he rasped, his rough voice sending a shiver down to the delightful ache thrumming at her apex. A knuckle dusted under her chin, his gaze searching hers. “Tell me. Do you hurt? Should I bow at your feet and beg for penance?”
A breathy, genuine laugh tumbled from her, a sound she hadn’t heard from herself in years. She savored the musky scent clinging to his beard, making a possessive pride flare in her chest.
“A little,” she admitted, her hips involuntarily rocking against his rigid length. “You were thorough, Jarl.”
Two hands bracketed her hips, stopping her movements and she pouted. The wolfish, confident expression on his features made her core clench, gooseflesh pebbling her arms.
“I will not hurt you more, sweet girl,” he groaned, as if pained by the thought of not having her that morning. “I will have a fresh bath of juniper and rosewater brought for you. It will ease the sting.”
Lips fused to hers, silencing the protest before she could utter it. With each slide of his tongue along hers, it professed so many unspoken promises. While he didn’t say the words, she felt it in the hum of his heart beating in rhythm with hers.
Love.
Her throat bobbed as he pulled her closer, kissing her until she was dizzy.
Love.
It terrified her, knowing how one emotion could kindle and destroy equally.
This was never supposed to happen, not with him.
Not with the man who stole her away, who now held her heart prisoner.
Unhurriedly, he drew out the kiss, muttering into her swollen lips, “You have me until the end of days, Elara. I am yours.”
He could have it. Her heart. All of her.
It was his.
After making her come twice on his tongue, Njáll had eventually left for training, leaving her to the juniper bath.
Once she’d eaten and dressed, she stepped out into the bustling village. Children ran past, waving and giggling as they chased a hound through the fields. A slight chill tinged the morning air. Elara shivered, tugging the fur hood closer to her nape.
Her fingers sought the smooth stone of the rune hanging from her neck, tracing the lines as she made the march to Hlif’s secluded dwelling.
Lavender-tinted smoke billowed from the hole in the roof, the trees casting sun-dappled shadows on the mossy roof.
A deep breath expanded her chest, and Elara closed her eyes, counting the beats against her ribs until she reached ten.
Inside, Hlif sat on a rickety stool, stirring a steaming bowl of viscous liquid.
Thick scents of elderberry and sage clouded the small space. Hlif didn’t look up from her work, her deep, gravelly voice greeting Elara.
“The light misses its heart,” she observed, her ancient skin looking like wrinkled bark in the diffused morning light. “The shades move closer. Good. It fuels the flame. Sit, Seiekona. Today we do not silence. Today we weave.”
Immediately, she obeyed, the wood creaking under her.
Energy crackled beneath her skin, making Elara’s entire body go rigid. She still struggled to make sense of Hlif’s riddled lessons, but deciphered enough to know that today, they’d start something new.
Clear eyes met hers. Hlif placed the bowl of stewed herbs aside and held up her hands, her bony fingers surprisingly dexterous.
A gnarled thumb pressed into the space between her brows, Hlif chanting in low, furious Norse.
Icy tendrils slither along the ridges of her spine, spreading through Elara’s veins. The air around Elara’s head distorted, the bowl of herbs rattling.
She shivered, her breathing labored as she waited for some unnerving judgement from the Volva.
“What have you seen?” Hlif asked, her eyes still closed, her thumb still anchored between Elara’s eyes.
“What?”
“When you close your eyes, what do you see that has not come to pass?” Hlif continued, her rough voice exceedingly patient.
The chill in her veins started to burn and Elara sniffed, her throat bobbing with a strained swallow.
Nothing remained hidden from Hlif’s intrusions. Nails dug into her cuticles, blood staining her fingertips.
Elara worried that speaking them aloud would will them into existence. When Hlif did not relent, Elara’s shoulders fell, her lashes fluttering.
“A few over the years,” Elara mumbled, tugging at a loose thread on her dress. “The first happened before I saw Freyja. Shadows of a man. Of Njáll. Recently, they’ve been hazier. Flashes of smoke. Glimpses of battles. Blood and ash.”
Hlif hummed, stepping back, her knowing eyes pinning Elara to the spot.
“Visions are but one future when there are many. Do not fall for the perils depicted by the draugar, for it will steal you to madness. Foresight is unpredictable. As changeable as the winds. Do not dwell on them for they only feed the ash that chokes your light.”
The hands shaking in her lap stilled, her nervous energy shifting to her teeth abusing her raw lower lip.
Since her first vision about Njáll came to pass, it was hard to believe the others weren’t also inevitable.
“If I can smell your fear, child, so can the draugar. Control it. Control your emotions.”
A frustrated huff hissed through her clenched teeth, and Hlif raised a brow.
Relenting, Elara closed her eyes, emptying her mind until her limbs loosened and her jaw unclenched.
“Good. Today we weave. You will learn to shackle the shadows and strengthen the veil.”
Hlif reached out, her callused fingers brushing the thin skin on the inside of Elara’s wrist, sending a pulse of chill through her.
This time, Elara didn’t shiver, her braided hair skimming the small of her back as she sat as still as a statue.
“Call upon the wellspring. Find your flame.”
The words became muffled, sounding as though they were spoken beneath swirling tides.
It didn’t take her long now to project her consciousness into the veil. Her magic—her seier—didn’t lash out on its own anymore. Elara had been able to control her thoughts, only slipping into the veil by chance, not by accident.
The sensation was odd. Her body still sat in Hlif’s home, warmed by the rosemary-scented fire. But her mind wandered, drifting through a grey, hazy plane that was neither warm nor cold—it simply existed.
Elara headed Hlif’s command, closing her eyes and manifesting a glorious, flickering flame in her palm, imbued with her inner golden light—her seier.
“Now, search it. See the fire, shimmering threads that weave together all things.”
A small V pinched between her brows, her mouth thin as Elara strained to find the threads in her manifested magic.
After twisting her hand this way and that, a sharp breath stabbed at her ribs. Elara found them.
Faint, iridescent lines of silver hidden within the blaze.
“These are destiny made flesh. They all run through the light. Find the strongest one. The thickest, warmest, most central one.”
Immediately, Elara was drawn to a dark, braided thread, thrumming with a warm, steady beat that reminded her of Njáll.
Carefully, she reached for it. The thread reacted to her presence and glowed hotter. She smiled, delicately tracing the intricate weave.
“Well done, Seiekona. Now, find the thread of the dark beast that sleeps by your side.”
While it shouldn’t surprise her Hlif knew of Alruna, it still caused her to pause.
After a beat, Elara sifted through the glimmering threads until she found one that glittered like starlight glazed across an inky black sky.
“That is Alruna.” A sad smile plucked at the corners of her mouth before Hlif continued. “She is not a guardian gifted by Freyja. Rather, a protective manifestation of your own fierce instinct to survive. You have indeed shape-shifted, child. Just not how anyone ever has before.”
Her hands froze in midair, tracing the threads. Alruna had been a reflection of her own brutal will, not a being of divine grace, but of survival. The revelation startled her.
The dark, inky thread was not Alruna, but her.
A beautiful demon to be tamed and bound.
“Until now, Alruna appeared when your emotions spiraled out of control. Your seier reacted to the danger, and manifested itself into something to protect you. The stronger you become, the more you will be able to call upon the creature. Use it to shield yourself and the ones you love. Now, bind the threads together. Strengthen you and your Jarl.”
Huffing, Elara struggled, her mind aching with the effort of braiding the energy. The starry thread was wild and resistant, slipping from her mental grasp.
Sweat beaded on her brow, her hands shaking.
“Focus,” Hlif hissed. “Focus on your desire to protect the one who guards you. By protecting him, you protect us all. You heal the veil. Now, weave, little one.”
Warmth slithered through her limbs, a heavy, comforting weight draped over her abdomen. The scent of cedar and leather invaded her senses, grounding her in Njáll’s memory.
Without overthinking, she focused on the inky thread, twisting it with ease around the warm, braided one.
They snapped together, glowing hot.
A satisfied purr hummed in the darkness, light exploding in her chest.
“Open your eyes, Seiekona.”