Chapter Fifteen #2
She should have learned her lesson after the match with Heida, but Oda had never been one to back down.
Memories returned of how she had skulked around before his wedding to Thora, full of half-hidden bitterness.
Thora had taken her to the ring herself, but it was up to Aevar to see Eadlyn did not have to deal with her.
He reached the field and spotted Kian with the huskarls.
A bout was underway with the youngest and oldest of the men facing off in the center, weapons clashing and shouts rising around them.
It would’ve been a good fight to watch another day, but Aevar wasn’t in the mood.
He caught Kian’s eye and nodded him over.
Kian lingered a moment before leaving the others and meeting Aevar at the edge of the field. “What’s going on?”
“Oda’s up to her old ways.”
Kian shot a look toward the village. “That woman’s got the persistence of a blood gnat. Want us to swat her, or just keep her buzzing out of reach?”
“I already made myself clear to her.” Aevar crossed his arms. “Eadlyn wants the freedom to walk down to the fjord. I want it known that she’s to be protected at all costs. If anyone, especially Oda, bothers her again, they’re to be brought directly to me.”
“I’ll let the men know. They’ll spread the word and keep watch.” Kian gave a dry snort. “Honestly, it’s like watching someone try to start a fire in the fjord. The obsession with you is almost impressive.”
Aevar grunted, jaw tightening. What had once seemed like petty sibling rivalry between Thora and Oda had twisted into something darker.
Now Oda seemed bent on claiming what was denied her.
He remembered too well the day she had come to him, so soon after Thora’s death, thinking in his grief he would welcome her offer of comfort.
The memory made his insides turn. He had refused her outright, and she’d slunk back into the shadows.
But now, Eadlyn’s arrival had stirred her up again like hornets from a broken nest.
A hard smack landed against his shoulder.
“You look like you need to hit something,” Kian said, grinning. “And I’m feeling particularly generous today. I’ll let you take a swing at me.”
Aevar didn’t argue. His hands itched, and his blood flowed too hot beneath his skin. Kian was right. He did need to hit something.
The ring cleared once he and Kian stepped inside. The huskarls knew better than to interrupt when Aevar was like this—the kind of storm that needed letting out before it struck elsewhere. Kian tossed him a wooden sword and shield, and Aevar caught both without breaking stride.
“No blades,” Kian said, grabbing his own gear. “You look like you might be in the mood to accidentally break something.”
“I’ll aim for your head. Wouldn’t damage much.”
“Generous as ever.”
They circled once. Wooden swords felt slightly unbalanced compared to iron but familiar.
The grain of the grip bit into Aevar’s palm, the shield solid against his forearm.
Kian struck first, a light, quick swing toward Aevar’s shoulder.
Aevar blocked it and returned with a downward strike that Kian deflected with ease.
“I’ve missed this,” Kian said, shifting his stance. “You, angry. Me, being useful.”
Aevar didn’t answer. He let the rhythm of the fight take hold. Each strike gave him something to focus on, drowning out thoughts of Oda. Of Thora. Of Eadlyn standing tall beside him.
Kian pressed forward, shield low, sword swinging fast. Aevar stepped aside, caught the strike, and countered with a quick combination. The final strike landed squarely against Kian’s ribs.
He staggered back with a hissed breath, laughing despite it. “You’re a menace when brooding.”
“You asked for it.”
“I offered, actually, out of friendship. This is gratitude, apparently.”
Aevar shook out his shoulders. Sweat clung under his collar, but the heat in his chest was starting to bleed away.
Kian circled again, more cautious now. “You ever going to tell her?”
Aevar tightened his grip on his sword. “Tell who what?”
Kian raised a brow. “Eadlyn. That you’re half in love with her already.”
Aevar swung hard and fast in a brutal arc that slammed into Kian’s shield with enough force to send him stumbling two steps back. The crack of wood rang out sharp and final.
Kian blinked, regaining his balance. “Right. Noted.”
Aevar reset his stance, measuring each breath.
He was not half in love. He struck again.
Kian blocked and tried to counter, but Aevar stepped inside the swing and shoved him back with his shoulder.
Kian stumbled, turning it into a dramatic fall and landing on the dirt with a loud oof.
He stayed there, staring at the sky until Aevar offered him a hand.
Kian took it, groaning as Aevar hauled him up. “Next time I bring armor.”
“You’ll need more than that.”
Kian grinned. “Maybe a priest.”
That night, Aevar settled in to listen to Eadlyn read and massaged his arm where one of the men had struck him during their training bouts after he and Kian had sparred. It still throbbed beneath the skin, a clean hit and well-earned.
Eadlyn’s voice filled the room, enthusiasm coloring her tone as she told him of how her God had sent plagues down on the land of Egypt because the king refused to let God’s people go free.
It was a dramatic tale—water turned to blood, locusts darkening the skies, the sun blotted out—and Aevar had to admit he found it more gripping than he’d expected.
But his focus wandered.
He kept drifting back to the moment earlier when she had stood at his side so boldly, facing Oda’s sneering hatred without flinching.
She was quiet, and gentle, and poised, as one expected from a southern princess, but she carried a deeper hidden strength.
He’d seen it from the first day they’d met, and it had revealed itself again today.
And with that strength, he suspected she had a spark of fight as well.
He’d caught a glimpse of it when she’d stepped in to stop the match between him and her Essian guard when they’d first accepted the marriage proposal.
He hadn’t forgotten the spark in her eyes.
It made him wonder, idly at first, but with growing interest, what else lay buried beneath that calm and grace. What would it take to get her ire up?
He shifted and looked over at her, that question turning into temptation. “Are you sure this story isn’t about the gods?”
Eadlyn paused mid-sentence and lowered the parchment. “No. It’s definitely about the God. The whole point of the plagues was to show that the gods Egypt believed in were not real and had no power.”
Aevar nodded as if mulling it over. “Still sounds like the gods to me.”
“But you see, this reveals God’s power over all of creation. He is the God of gods. More powerful than any created thing.”
“‘God of gods.’” He lifted an eyebrow. “So there are others.”
She blinked. “What? No!” The first thread of exasperation slipped into her voice. “That’s not what it means.” She adjusted her shawl and sat straighter. “It means He’s God over everything, including man’s attempts at creating their own gods.”
“How can you be sure?”
She stared at him as if he’d sprouted antlers.
After all, he had never questioned her like this.
Not directly. Not in this tone that always annoyed his brothers.
She thought through her answer for a long moment and drew in a breath.
One of those slow, deliberate ones people took when they were keeping calm.
He fought a smile, but not well enough, apparently.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to irritate me.”
He shrugged, letting a grin break free. “I wanted to see if you could get irritated.”
She reached behind her and snatched a pillow. The throw was quick and clean. He laughed as he caught it just before it smacked him in the face.
“I’ll have you know,” she said with exaggerated dignity, “I can get plenty irritated. Edward would tell you that.”
Her face held his gaze, the amusement tilting her soft lips and sparkling in her dark eyes.
It struck him how happy she looked, sitting there on his bed as if she had always belonged, her hair spilling over her shoulders in sharp contrast to the light blue shawl she’d wrapped around herself.
Something sparked deep in his chest, and he forced himself to look away.
Without speaking, he tossed the pillow back at her—not too hard—and caught a feminine scent of lavender.
It hit him without warning, bringing the past colliding with the present.
Warding off the memories, he lay back down and stared at the ceiling.
Eadlyn continued reading, but the words grew lost in a confusing sea of longing for what once was and the way his heart tugged at him now.