Chapter 2 #2
But when the jarl motioned, neither of these men moved. Instead, the younger, dark-haired Nord stepped forward. Eadlyn’s pulse skittered in a strange mix of relief and apprehension.
“My eldest are already taken,” Runar said. “This is my youngest, Aevar. He has agreed to wed your sister.”
Their eyes met again, and Eadlyn’s heart now pattered like a frantic sparrow trapped in a window as the reality sank in that this was her husband-to-be.
He stood with his hands resting idly on his weapons, feet set wide in the stance of a seasoned warrior.
She’d seen that same posture in Galen countless times.
If Aevar felt even a fraction of the uncertainty she did over this arrangement, he did not show it.
She searched his face for something—anything—to reassure her, but his expression was as unreadable as his father’s.
At least he didn’t leer at her. Didn’t assess her like a prize to be won or an object to be claimed or stolen.
That had to count for something. She turned his name about in her mind, trying to become accustomed to it as the name of her husband.
That’s when she realized Edward was staring at her. She switched her attention to him, reading the question on his face. She took a quivering breath and dipped her chin in a nod. What else could she do? She wouldn’t back out now.
“We are in agreement then,” Edward said, turning back to the jarl.
“Good.” A glint sparked in Runar’s eyes. One that set Eadlyn on edge. “There is an old tradition among our people. When a man seeks a woman’s hand, he must first fight her father or her brother to prove he is worthy. Perhaps you should fight my son to see if he is worthy of your sister.”
The blood drained from Edward’s face. “F-fight him?”
“Don’t worry. It’s only until one of you yields, not to the death.” Jarl Runar gestured to the open ground outside the pavilion.
Eadlyn looked between the two parties. Aevar studied Edward, a smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. A subtle challenge. He was every inch a warrior, armed and ready. Edward, meanwhile, wasn’t even wearing his sword, a mistake, she now realized.
She squeezed her fists. This was barbaric and did nothing to embolden her hope that the stories of the Nords’ brutish ways were exaggerated. Heat rose in her blood, and she stepped forward, facing down the jarl.
“My brother is the king. Essix cannot risk losing him.” Even if it wasn’t to the death, anything might happen.
The jarl didn’t have a chance to respond before Galen’s sharp voice cut through the tension. “I’ll fight him, my lady. I’ll judge whether he’s worthy of you.”
Of course he would step up in her defense, always prepared to stand between her and the fire.
He had his hand on his sword, ready to draw it as he and Aevar took measure of each other.
Galen was much taller than Aevar. If anyone could match and beat the Nord, it was him.
But what was the point? Both would probably rather die than yield, and someone might get hurt for nothing more than a show of useless bravado.
Eadlyn put her hand on Galen’s arm to still him.
“No. The arrangement has already been made. A fight isn’t necessary.” Turning, she met Aevar’s gaze. “Battle prowess does not determine the strength of a man’s character anyway.”
For a breath, no one moved. Then she caught it—a twitch of Aevar’s lips—the barest hint of a smile and a slight nod.
Whether in agreement or mere acknowledgment was a mystery.
At least this confirmed that he, like his father, spoke her language.
An inability to communicate would have made an already unthinkable situation even harder.
The charged atmosphere slowly abated. Galen stepped back, though his posture remained rigid.
Edward cleared his throat, still pale, his voice shaky. “Why don’t we take refreshments while we discuss the terms of our agreement?” He motioned to the table at the rear of the pavilion.
This time, the Nords accepted. They moved to the table, pouring goblets of deep red wine. Aevar glanced at her as he passed an arm’s length away. Her breath caught again, and a quiver stirred deep in her stomach. She held her ground, though every instinct screamed to step back.
Oh Lord, if this is truly Your will, please give me the strength to face it. If not, rescue me.
She turned to Galen, keeping her voice low. “Thank you for your willingness to defend me.”
His attention remained locked on Aevar like one of the hunting falcons back home watching prey. “I’d gladly wipe the smirk off his face if you asked.”
“I know.” And not for the first time did she wish with all her heart he’d been her father instead. If he were, she wouldn’t be in this position.
She looked over at Edward, who still appeared rattled by the prospect of facing a Nord warrior.
Though Galen was working with him on his sword skill, they both knew he would never have stood a chance in a fight.
Her soon-to-be husband would have made a fool of him.
Still, it did sting that Edward hadn’t been more willing to fight for her.
She had witnessed her share of men, including these Nords, who possessed far more boldness than was good for them, but she didn’t believe her brother’s utter lack of courage was a good thing either.
No stars marked the heavy black sky, only orange sparks as Aevar stirred up their fire near the riverbank. Another blaze crackled a few yards away, surrounded by the huskarls they’d brought from Fjellheim. Their laughter rose and fell, mingling with the steady hush of the river’s current.
He leaned back as the flames danced, then peered over his shoulder toward the Essian camp.
A few fires glowed like beacons in the darkness.
The princess was out there somewhere. She may have already taken to her tent, preparing for tomorrow.
The alliance was secured. The marriage agreed upon, quick and reluctant as expected.
All that remained was the morning ceremony.
“Your new woman’s got more spine than her brother,” Braan said, snapping Aevar back to the firelight. His brother’s pale blue eyes gleamed with mischief. “You should’ve offered her a sword. She might have fought you herself to test your worth.”
Aevar chuckled at the thought. It was almost appealing.
Erik tossed another chunk of wood onto the fire before adjusting the fur around his cloak. The night had a bite to it. “If the Essians had sense, they’d keep her and get rid of the king.”
Braan, still grinning, turned back to Aevar. “Think you can handle her?”
Aevar scoffed. “Please. I’ve yet to hear you say anything to Heida but ‘yes, dear.’”
Erik’s laughter broke out, deep and full, joined by Kian’s. This time, Aevar was the one smirking.
Braan shook his head. “Something wrong with keeping my woman happy?”
“Not at all,” Kian chimed in. “Especially when she could take your head clean off your shoulders.”
Braan snorted. “You’re the only one in danger of that. You’re always hiding behind one of us like your mother’s skirts when you get her riled.”
Aevar laughed as Kian feigned insult. This was comfort.
His brothers. Their teasing. The easy camaraderie that had held him together when nothing else had.
He wasn’t sure what the last couple of years would’ve been like without them.
Soon, Eadlyn would become part of it. If only he could see how that would change things.
How much he might think back on this night and long for it.
He turned his head, scanning again beyond the glow of their fires.
This time, he spotted a lone silhouette down by the river.
His father had gone to check on the men but now stood still, attention fixed across the dark water.
While his brothers continued heckling each other, Aevar rose and excused himself.
He adjusted his own fur-mantled cloak as the icy wind rolled in off the river and walked away from the fire.
He came to stand beside his father, neither speaking.
Together, they stared out across the darkened plains toward Nordra.
Aevar missed the thick forests already. The freshness of pine and snow.
These low, barren stretches were foreign and strange.
He understood now why the Essians desired timber.
They barely had enough wood for their fires from what they’d scrounged up along the riverbank.
Gravel crunched underfoot as Fathir turned to face him. Aevar couldn’t make out his expression in the dark, but the weight of his father’s gaze bored into him.
“I hope you’re not doing this simply because you feel you ought to.”
Aevar let out a long breath that clouded in front of him.
In all honesty, he wasn’t sure why he’d agreed to the marriage.
Of course, he ultimately wanted to help his people, but whatever driving force lay beyond that he couldn’t explain.
Fate, possibly, if there was such a thing.
He was not so sure anymore. The winding thread of fate he’d so eagerly followed in his youth had left his world shattered. He wasn’t keen on trusting it again.
He shrugged. “The alliance will be good for Nordra. We all do what we can to make sure our people thrive.”
His father sighed, long and low. “I only wish the responsibility did not have to fall to you.”
“It’s my choice, and I accept it. Besides, people marry for the sake of peace and alliances all the time. You and Móthir did. You did not know each other before you wed.”
The shadow of his father’s beard almost hid a smile. “No, we didn’t.”
“But it turned out well.” Aevar offered the words like a quiet hope. He’d never once doubted his parents loved each other fiercely and passionately. He didn’t expect or seek the same for himself, but perhaps peaceful companionship was attainable.
“Your mother and I were lucky. I pray to the gods you find the same luck.”
Aevar didn’t respond to that. Prayers hadn’t done him much good in the past, but he appreciated them anyway. Maybe the gods might listen this time.