Chapter 35 Alarik
Alarik
Alarik’s morning had unravelled spectacularly. One minute, he was kissing Greta, greedily devouring her moans and letting his worries dissolve on her tongue, and the next, he was staring into the seething face of her brother.
His best friend wanted to kill him.
And a small, furious part of Alarik wanted to kill Tor. If only for the interruption.
Greta stood frozen in front of her brother.
Her lips were swollen and her cheeks were stained pink, her chest heaving as she searched for breath.
Alarik had to fight the urge to pull her back into his arms. ‘You should step outside,’ he said, in a measured voice, as though there wasn’t a sword pointed at his chin. ‘Tor and I need to speak.’
‘I don’t want to speak to you,’ said Tor, in a voice that was all gravel. ‘I want to fight you.’
Greta tried to push his arm down. ‘Don’t be such a brute!’
Alarik carefully rolled to his feet, keeping a wary eye on that blade as he made a wide arc around Tor.
Tor turned on his heel, following his every move. ‘Pick up your sword,’ he challenged. ‘I won’t fight you empty-handed.’
‘I’d rather we didn’t fight at all,’ said Alarik.
‘You should have thought about that before you shoved your tongue down my sister’s throat. I should gut you right now for taking advantage of her.’
‘That’s not what happened!’ said Greta, slamming her fist into his shoulder.
Tor didn’t flinch.
She hit him again, then tugged at the collar of his grey travelling cloak, trying to tear his murderous gaze from Alarik. ‘What are you even doing here?’ she demanded. ‘You haven’t been back to Carrig in months.’
He glanced at her. ‘I’ve just been to Carrig.
Imagine my surprise when I returned to our island to find my youngest sister missing.
Gone to work as a wrangler for the brutal king she used to fear, to train his beasts for wars that she doesn’t believe in.
Freezing hell, Greta, you can’t even pluck a chicken without crying! ’
‘What was I supposed to do?’ she said, her own voice rising. ‘Let our family starve because you went away and forgot about us!’
‘I never forgot about you,’ he protested. ‘You should have written to me.’
‘You should have written to us!’
‘So, this is my punishment?’ he said, hurt and anger mingling in his voice. ‘To have to see my peaceful, loving sister go to war? To watch you risk your life over and over for causes you can’t even stomach. And worse, to survive by the skin of your teeth only to come home and play the king’s pet?’
Greta jerked, as though he had slapped her.
Rage ripped through Alarik. ‘Don’t you dare talk to her like that.’
Tor turned back to him. ‘Stay out of this.’
‘I’m not a child,’ Greta fumed. ‘I can make my own choices.’
‘Clearly, you can’t.’
Alarik picked up his sword. ‘You are entitled to your anger, Tor. But you can take it out on me.’
‘With pleasure,’ he said, turning to lunge at him.
‘Stop it! Both of you!’ Greta’s cries were lost to the clash of their swords. Alarik felt the strength of Tor’s fury in his first strike, the blade vibrating against his own. He shoved back, meeting him blow for blow as they circled each other, like beasts in an arena.
‘I don’t know what pisses me off more,’ said Tor, swinging underhand. ‘That you took my sister to war or into your bed.’
Alarik parried with three sharp strikes, pushing into the space between them. ‘Don’t tell me how to run my kingdom, Iversen.’
‘Have your kingdom,’ said Tor, tossing his sword aside and grabbing his collar. ‘Leave my sister out of it.’
‘Too late,’ snarled Alarik.
Tor punched him squarely in the face.
‘Tor!’ shrieked Greta. ‘Have you lost your mind?’
There was a sudden roaring in Alarik’s ears. He staggered backwards, blinking through the pain. Blood poured from his nose and striped his chin, but he stayed his blade, refusing to give in to the tide of his anger. He cast his sword away, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
‘That was your free shot,’ he hissed. ‘Next time, I’ll take your hand.’
‘Not before I take yours, Felsing.’ Tor was rolling up his sleeves, ready to charge the king and get himself thrown in the dungeons. If Alarik struck back, it would become an all-out brawl, and his best friend would pay for it in blood.
Greta would never forgive him. He would never forgive himself.
When Tor lunged for him, Alarik jumped out of his path.
‘That’s enough!’ Greta leaped into the space between them, brandishing a sword that was almost the same size as her.
It was heavy and unwieldy in her hands, a rusted relic she must have grabbed from the wall of weapons.
She spun on her heel, teetering under the weight of the blade as she clutched it with both hands, wildly swinging it back and forth.
Just like he had taught her. ‘Stop hurting each other right now!’
‘Put that thing down, Greta!’ Tor reeled backwards, panic flashing in his eyes. ‘You’ll hurt yourself.’
The same panic gripped Alarik. He took a careful step towards her. ‘We’ll stop,’ he said, calmly. ‘We’re stopping. See?’
She spun on him, her chest heaving. ‘I can’t stand it, Alarik,’ she said, distress rippling across her face. ‘When you hurt each other, you hurt me.’
‘I understand,’ he said, taking another step, Tor’s glare burning into him. ‘Please give me the sword.’
She gripped it tighter. ‘Promise me you won’t hurt him.’
‘I promise,’ he said, at once.
She spun on her brother. ‘You have to promise, too.’
‘I promise,’ he said, with a huff. ‘Just put the sword down.’
She turned back to Alarik. ‘I hate this.’
‘I know, wildling.’ He reached for the sword, and she let him take it.
He tossed it behind him, then took her hand, gently pulling her into his chest. He didn’t care that Tor was watching, only that she was stricken, and he was the cause of it.
‘Let me talk to him alone, all right?’ he murmured.
‘He’s confused and angry, and I owe him that much. We can be reasonable.’
Her lips twisted as she weighed his words.
‘Go on,’ said Tor, with a sigh. ‘I’ll come find you after.’
‘Fine,’ she said, at last stepping away. Her voice hardened as she raised her finger in warning. ‘But if either one of you moves to strike the other, I will send Baldur and Nel in here to devour you. I mean it.’
Alarik bit back a smile. ‘Fair.’
Tor dipped his chin. ‘Fine.’
Satisfied with their agreement, Greta stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
They stared after her, both gathering the strands of their composure.
Tor broke the silence. ‘What the hell are you playing at, Alarik?’
Alarik didn’t know where to begin. He could only offer his best friend the unbridled truth, in the hope it would go some way to explaining the hellscape in which they now found themselves.
‘A few months ago, Elias reported the first stirrings of a Vaskan invasion to me. I needed a wrangler to get my beasts in line. So, I wrote to your sisters. Greta chose to come.’
Tor nodded. He already knew this part. He had been home to Carrig, after all.
But he didn’t know the rest. ‘My beasts adore her. She trains them with formidable skill and focus, and yet cares for them with softness and grace. She feels their needs as if they were her own, and she meets them without hesitation. They would do anything for her.’
Alarik couldn’t help the tenderness in his voice. It must be obvious to Tor that he shared in his beasts’ devotion to their wrangler, that he himself would do anything to make her happy.
But his friend’s face was like stone. ‘That’s her way,’ he said, stiffly. ‘The wild has called to Greta since she was a child. She has always known how to respond to it. How to embrace it.’
‘If it wasn’t for your sister, I would have ceded the Blackspires to Queen Regna.’
Tor’s brows lifted, pride flitting across his face. ‘So, she is a good wrangler.’
‘My best.’ Alarik smirked. ‘No offence.’
Tor snorted. ‘Is that why you grossly overpay her?’
‘I pay her what her work is worth.’
‘Sure you do.’ He rolled his eyes, the ire in them fading. ‘I know what wranglers earn, Alarik. I saw what you did for my family. What you gave them when I was away and unaware of their suffering.’
Alarik said nothing. He didn’t consider it a kindness, but his duty. He had done the same for countless families across Gevra since his talk with Greta that night of the welcome ball. He would continue to do it, for as long as he was king.
‘Your sister opened my eyes to another kind of war,’ he explained. ‘To struggle and starvation, and the toll of an unforgiving winter. I don’t want any of my people to suffer, Tor. Least of all your family. I sent aid to them, and to all on Carrig.’
Tor nodded slowly, taking in his words. ‘So, you value her advice.’
‘Greatly.’
‘And her skills as a wrangler?’
Alarik nodded. Hadn’t he said as much?
‘And you know that she’s my younger sister. The jewel of my family.’
Alarik stared at him. ‘Obviously.’
Tor curled his lip. ‘Then why did you decide to make her your pet?’
Alarik flinched. ‘She’s not my pet,’ he said, slumping on to the bench, burdened by the gathering weight of one essential truth, which he had been trying so very hard to ignore. ‘She’s a living, breathing dream.’ He rubbed the spot between his brows. ‘She’s my wildest dream.’
Silence, then.
Alarik felt his friend’s shock like a whip of cold wind.
‘You’re in love with her,’ said Tor, surprise rippling in his voice.
Alarik’s shoulders slumped. There it was, as plain as could be. He was desperately, hopelessly in love with Greta Iversen. His prized wrangler. His best friend’s sister.
‘Freezing hell,’ muttered Tor.
Again, Alarik nodded. It was a kind of hell, being engaged to Princess Elva, and being in love with Greta Iversen. Wanting her so badly, it kept him awake at night. ‘Believe me, it’s far worse for me than it is for you.’
The bench creaked as his friend sat down beside him. ‘Does she know?’