Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SIGRID
Iknow everything that happens in this castle, boy.
When the king said those words, I almost snapped. The sniveling shit of a priest had defied me and told the king.
Eavesdropping on Bastian’s conversation had yielded a kind of rage I didn’t know how to contain without crushing bones.
I’d planned to wait until that night to seek the priest out and coerce him into doing my bidding, but that was no longer an option.
As soon as I learned of the priest’s betrayal, I headed for the cathedral, where his quarters were.
My footsteps echoed on the cold stone of the hallways. I passed a few nobles and some guards along the way, but none of them engaged with me.
Bastian had just stood there with perfect calm as his father demeaned him. While the king humiliated that serving woman. Allowing that kind of degradation to happen in his presence was as humiliating to Bastian as being forced to do it himself.
It was all I could do not to march in and take the king’s head, but when he’d revealed his knowledge of our wedding night, I determined a better use for my anger.
Before they could even finish their conversation, before I could see anything else that might make me reckless, I stormed off in search of the holy man.
The thing about a reputation is that it can be shattered far more easily than it was built.
If I showed weakness in this court, the wolves would come for me.
They were already circling, taking cheap shots.
If my reputation wavered, they’d be emboldened, and I’d be forced to start killing Saxons before I was ready.
A promise had been made about what would happen if the priest crossed me.
A promise I meant to keep.
When Father Benedict opened the door to his absurdly opulent quarters, I was perched on a stool in the center of the room.
He jerked wildly, turning like he might run away, and then he whipped back around like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d seen.
He froze with his eyes glued to the objects in front of me.
On a small table, I’d placed a large bowl, a scarf, and a spoon.
His gaze flicked between the three objects, glazing with terror.
He had no idea what I planned to do with these three items—neither did I for that matter—but his mind raced with possibilities far worse and more impactful than my merely pinning him by the balls or holding a knife to his throat.
The unknown was always more frightening because it was an infinite vessel the human mind could fill with dark possibilities. Specific threats were unnecessary when I could simply let fear do the work for me.
“You can’t be here! Get out!” he shouted, holding the cross around his neck like it might protect him from my wrath. Blood covered the bodice of my dress from where the arrow had nicked me, but for all he knew, I’d just slaughtered someone.
I picked up the spoon, spinning it over the tops of my fingers and under my palm in a circle.
He made a gasping sound of protest and held his hands up desperately. “What do you want?!”
Curiously, he didn’t look like a man who knew exactly what he’d done to cross me.
“I want you to tell me how the king knows about last night.”
“I didn’t breathe a word of your misdeeds! If he knows, it wasn’t me!” His whole body trembled in fright. “I didn’t tell him anything! I didn’t betray you!”
I studied his creepy yellowish eyes, seeing only terror there, but no guilt nor guile. It was infuriating not to taste his fears to see if they were tinged with it, but I’d ripped confessions from too many minds not to recognize the nuances in his reaction.
He didn’t do it.
The truth slowly sunk in, and I understood where Bastian had come by his powers of manipulation. The king hadn’t known.
Until Bastian had reacted.
“That son of a bitch…” I murmured aloud, not sure if I meant the king or the prince.
Bastian walked right into the kind of trap the king had probably laid for him a thousand times before.
I hadn’t seen it either because I’d been distracted by the king’s behavior.
If I’d paid attention to what mattered, I wouldn’t have stormed down here and been in a position where I had to save face.
An idea occurred to me, but I wondered if it would jeopardize Layla.
It was hard to imagine that Thorin wouldn’t already have secured her, but even if he hadn’t, surely he’d be close enough to protect her if it came to it.
I had another brother to rescue from eternal suffering, and if I didn’t seize some power here, my ability to help Axel or get myself out of here alive would dwindle.
A Saxon had tried to murder me in broad daylight in front of half the army. It was time to start reminding them why they were afraid in the first place.
My berserker snapped and growled lowly like I might start taking heads. I couldn’t…but I could start punishing them.
The king isn’t the only one who can lay a trap.
“Prove it,” I said slowly. “Prove you’re loyal to me, and I won’t…have to use these.” I stroked the fine silk of the scarf ominously.
It was a pity I couldn’t sense his fears. I was never going to know what exactly he thought I’d do with a spoon, a scarf, and a bowl. I’d felt the deepest fears of thousands, and still the human mind found new ways to surprise me with ideas I’d never seen before.
“How?! Tell me how!” he pleaded, turning blubbery just like he had the night before.
When I hesitated, taking a moment to ponder how to play this, he dropped to his knees, clasping his hands together to plead for his life. I had half a mind to snap his neck simply so I wouldn’t have to listen to him anymore, but he deserved to suffer for what he’d done to Bastian.
“The king possesses a dagger with a handle shaped like this,” I said, pointing to the blue tattoo depicting Odin’s raven on my neck. “It’s a Viking relic with important powers, and I want it back.”
“I’ve seen it in his trove, but I don’t have that kind of access!” he whimpered.
“Then you’re going to get that kind of access.
How can I trust you if you don’t have to risk anything?
Retrieve the dagger. When I return tomorrow evening.
I’ll either be collecting the weapon or collecting your soul to send it to whatever hell you believe in.
But I won’t make it quick,” I added, fingering the edge of the spoon.
He nodded frantically, bowing his head and beginning to pray.
I didn’t say another word as I slipped from his room to return to mine. I didn’t need to.
He’d play his part, and with any luck, the king would walk into a trap of his own.
I was on edge, thrumming with a kind of reckless energy that would get someone killed. My berserker still paced, waiting to be unleashed. My skin felt too tight. My bones throbbed with pain. My very core ached with the need for some kind of release.
Fight or fuck.
I didn’t actually know which instinct would win out until I threw open the door to my chamber and found Bastian standing there with the gall to look relieved.
Relieved I was safe, worried about where I’d been, tender and ever so domestic.
He was barefoot and shirtless, and his hair was a disheveled mess like he’d been raking his hands through it with agitation, but that only made him look roguishly handsome.
When his expression softened into something deeper than relief, I had no choice but to punch him in the face.