Chapter 30
Thirty
Elara
Bright blue skies flickered above, birds weaving in and out of the sunlight. Elara ambled through the village, aimlessly stroking the rune around her throat, not ready to return home yet.
After the exhausting session with Hlif, she needed a moment—many moments—to collect herself.
Perhaps she had always been stronger than she realized.
Molten gold eyes flashed in her vision.
Alruna.
Her.
Pebbles kicked under her boots as people dipped their chins at her approach, offering warm smiles.
The colors around her swirled, the earth starting to spin as Elara swayed, clutching a nearby post.
Ash coated her tongue, a stabbing ache radiating in her chest. Elara spread her fingers out over her breastbone, trying to soothe the dull pinch.
The world vanished, the ground falling out from under her. A suffocating cold choked her, squeezing the frigid air from her lungs.
Piercing shrieks threatened to tear her skin from her bones.
A violent shiver rocked her already trembling frame.
She stood on a towering cliff, the air churning with smoky mist.
It smelled of brine and burnt flesh, the acrid scent making Elara gag.
In the valley below stood the Konungr, radiating barely contained fury. The icy glow in his eyes flared—not entirely human. Silver braids framed his face, the hair growing and twisting as his sinew tore and rebuilt anew.
Massive paws thudded into the earth, claws pawing at the ground beneath an enormous white wolf.
Beside him stood Njáll, his axe swinging in decisive slashes.
Rocks dug into her knees as Elara crashed to the ground, cold hands covering her mouth.
Bloated, desiccated forms clawed their way through the mist, their limbs impossibly long, their leathery hands grasping for Njáll’s throat.
A silent scream died in her chest, tears leaking from her eyes.
The draugar moved with a lumbering, relentless horror. Njáll stumbled, the Konungr’s maw snapping through the undead.
A towering skeletal shadow reached past Njáll, its long, chain-wrapped hand extending toward a small, shimmering gold beacon.
Nails clawed at her throat, dragging in wheezing breaths.
It was too clear. Too real.
Damp dirt slid along her palms, the last sliver of consciousness shattering as the world went black.
Elara woke to the smell of warm oil, clean wool, and simmering rose water. The faint scent of juniper clung to the luxurious furs bunched around her hips.
Slowly, her eyes blinked open, her fingers trailing over her thin shift.
A throb pulsed behind her temple.
Beside her sat a woman, gently stroking the skin of Elara’s forearm.
Njáll’s mother offered Elara a comforting smile.
Chestnut curls laced with silver framed her freckled face. Her soft hazelnut eyes sparkled like a freshly kindled fire. Elara tried to move when Brielle shook her head, a strong hand urging her to lie back down.
“Hush,” she whispered, passing Elara a skin of water. “Rest. You are home.”
“What happened?” Elara asked, washing away the feeling of batted cotton in her mouth.
“My daughter saw you crumble by the longhouse and sent for me. We brought you here. It appeared your body needed time to recover.”
Nodding, Elara stared at the fire, letting the calm flicker soothe her. But what she really wanted was Njáll. And he hadn’t yet returned.
Before, her visions had been mere shadows. The unnerving clarity of the last one terrified her. Fox fur slid under her fingers as she tugged the furs higher, remembering Hlif’s words.
Nothing was certain. A change in the wind could change her visions.
Just because she saw, didn’t mean it would come to pass.
Brielle smiled, smoothing the furs across Elara’s hips, handing her a steaming cup.
Elara sipped the bitter liquid, her face scrunching as it coated her insides.
The women sat in comfortable silence, sharing a meal as Elara felt more like herself. Brielle hummed, content to coexist, sewing linen into bandages.
Eventually, her soft voice broke through the silence.
“You honor my son. Thank you for choosing him. You are good for him. The kind of wife he will need to rule.”
Wife.
A flush stained Elara’s cheeks.
“I think you are mis—”
Eyes narrowed at her. Brielle silenced Elara with a cutting glare that rivaled her own mother’s. Elara pursed her lips, sucking in her defiance.
“Does my son not already call you kona? Kona is wife, Elara.”
Elara’s eyes blew wide, the mug in her hand falling with a thud on the floor. Brielle hummed a quiet laugh, undeterred by her response.
“Njáll looks at you like you are the air in his lungs and the sun in the sky. It is the same look my úlfr has graced me with since the day we met. One day, my son will carry the burden Leif now shoulders and he would not survive the toll without a strong Dróttning by his side.”
The soft demand burrowed into Elara’s chest, fighting away the last of the chill that still haunted her from her vision.
Njáll had told her he’d challenge his claim to lead the clans. As his kona, that meant she’d one day lead their people the same way Brielle did now.
Sensing her wayward thoughts, Brielle spoke again.
“You are his strength as he is yours. Do not fear it. Freyja brought you two together. Just as she did with me and Leif. My son will be safe with you by his side. Thank you for caring for him.”
Her chest squeezed, and her mouth parted. Elara tried to find the words to thank her, to tell her how much Njáll meant to her, but none came.
She struggled to put into words what Njáll was to her.
It was not meant to be this way.
When Elara offered herself to the scarred demon, she’d done it to honor her vow to her mother, to keep her father safe.
Now, the man who’d taken her, owned her.
More than she had ever imagined.
Too many emotions rushed to the surface, the weight of them making Elara’s eyes droop and her shoulders sag. Brielle clicked her tongue, the fire casting her in a warm glow.
“I will have a bath brought for you.” Brielle leaned over, patting her cheek and pressing a tender kiss to the crown of her curls. “I will check on you once in the morning and once after the sun sets until Njáll returns.”
An undeniable affection Elara hadn’t experienced in what felt like an eternity warmed a forgotten part of her soul.
It mingled with the agonizing memory of her mother. Instead of shattering her like it so often did, it soothed her grief.
“Stay here and rest until Njáll returns. You must allow your body to recover.”
For the first time, Elara realized her mother’s love was a tangible thing, a thread that would always be there.
And Brielle offered her a love that could thrive in time with her mother’s, coexisting.
It breathed life into her, reminding her of the world that waited for her.
One where she and Njáll basked in the pleasure of their shared passion. One where they spent meals with his family and helped care for the clan.
One where Elara harnessed her gifts and the draugar no longer plagued them.
A beautiful, glorious life awaited them, one Elara was determined to manifest.
Elara nibbled on her lip, stumbling as the words she longed to say finally tumbled free.
“Thank you, Mamma,” Elara whispered, the name both bitter and sweet on her tongue.
Shards of jade glinted in Brielle’s eyes as she pressed her palm to her chest.
“Ek elska tik, dóttir mín.”