Chapter 17 #2
Flames still smoldered in Aevar’s chest, ready to ignite the moment he laid eyes on Sig again.
Every part of him burned with the need to hunt the man down and finish what he had started.
Had Sig harmed Eadlyn or laid more than a hand on her, Aevar would not have hesitated to take his head off right there in the street.
However, since he’d stopped him, simply killing him was not within the law.
Challenging him to a holmgang to the death was his next option.
A challenge he would have already issued if Sig had been any other man.
But the fact that he was Staegar’s heir twisted justice into something far more complicated, and Aevar knew better than to make a decision when his blood still roared in his ears.
He strode toward the training field. Kian, his father, and his brothers were there with the huskarls. Ingvald, who had alerted him that Sig had been spotted in the village, lingered nearby. They all turned as Aevar approached.
“Sig put his hands on Eadlyn.” The words ripped from his mouth.
Fathir’s face darkened. “Just now?”
Aevar nodded.
“Did he harm her?”
“No. But he would have if I hadn’t gotten there in time.”
Fathir’s eyes went hard. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. He slunk off.”
“Then we’ll find him.”
They moved together, a wall of fury cutting a path through the village as Fathir questioned every person they passed.
Finally, someone pointed them toward Oda’s house.
Aevar ground his teeth together. Of course.
The níeingr had been hiding with her this entire time, nursing his injuries from the Gathering.
With the way Aevar’s blood pulsed with heat, he was ready to challenge them both.
As they neared the small house Thora and Oda had inherited from their father, they spotted Sig standing outside with Oda. She didn’t react when they arrived, but Sig straightened, lifting his chin in bold defiance.
Fathir motioned to Ingvald and Njal. “Seize him.”
Sig reached for his weapons but was too slow. The men were on him in a moment, wrenching his arms behind his back and dragging him to face Fathir.
“You assaulted the princess of Essix, my daughter-in-law, in my village?”
Sig snorted. “I did nothing. I was only offering what her husband clearly isn’t.” He sent Aevar a sneering grin. “Before he showed up, the hórkona clearly enjoyed it.”
Aevar lunged. His fist collided with Sig’s face, snapping his head back with a satisfying crack.
He reared back to hit him again, but someone grabbed his shoulder.
Erik. Though he’d stopped him, his brother’s expression said he’d rather take a swing himself.
Aevar stepped back, breathing hard in the struggle to keep his anger in check.
Sig spat blood, laughing breathlessly. “My uncle will love hearing about this.”
Fathir stepped in, seizing Sig’s tunic and pulling him in close. “You think you’re safe because your uncle’s a jarl? I am king. You crossed a line.”
Sig didn’t blink, his expression holding steady and defiant.
Fathir turned to Aevar and drew him a few steps away. His voice dropped. “If you wish to challenge him, I will back you and deal with Staegar. Eadlyn is your wife. I will let you decide.”
Aevar’s pulse thundered in his ears. The fire in his lungs demanded vengeance. Demanded blood. But through the fury, reason broke in like an icy wind. One wrong move and Staegar would turn it into a justification for war. Aevar wasn’t willing to put Eadlyn, or his people, at the center of that.
He dropped his head, each breath hard and bitter in his throat. “I won’t start a war, but I want him gone. Banished from Fjellheim.”
They may not be able to keep the banishment in place forever if Sig became a jarl one day, but hopefully, that would be many, many years in the future. With any luck, and if the gods had any sense of justice, he would meet a well-deserved end before that even happened.
Fathir nodded, something proud and grim in his expression.
He gave Aevar’s shoulder a brief squeeze before turning back to Sig.
“You’re lucky my son’s a better man than you.
You’d be meeting the gods otherwise. You are banished from Fjellheim.
You’re never to set foot on my land again.
Unless you’d like to swim home, I suggest you find a boat. ”
Sig’s face twisted, but he said nothing.
“Understood?” Fathir snapped.
“Understood,” Sig muttered.
Ingvald and Njal released him. He shrugged his shoulders and straightened his tunic, pausing at Braan’s chill voice.
“You better be gone by nightfall, or I’ll come drag you to the fjord myself.”
“We all will,” Erik added, tone deadly calm.
Fathir turned to the huskarls. “Ingvald, watch him. I want confirmation when he’s gone.”
He dismissed the rest, and they returned to the longhouse. Heida stood at the door, waiting. She scanned their faces as if checking for signs of blood.
“Is he dead?”
Aevar couldn’t answer. The fire still lingered in his chest, burning a hole straight through.
Fathir answered for him. “Banished from Fjellheim.”
Heida shared a glance with Aevar. Her expression suggested she was thinking of paying a visit to Sig in his sleep. Aevar wouldn’t stop her.
Inside, they found Eadlyn sitting by the fire with Móthir and Ranvi. She appeared unhurt, but her eyes…her eyes held fear. That alone nearly unraveled Aevar all over again. Just seeing her. Remembering her held in Sig’s grip. Powerless. The rage surged, and he balled his fists.
Fathir spoke first. “I apologize. That should never have happened.”
Eadlyn shook her head. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know he was here.”
“It won’t happen again,” Fathir assured her. “He’s banished and will be gone by nightfall. My men will see to it.”
The relief was visible, the tension easing from her shoulders.
But for Aevar, the fire didn’t burn out.
He spent the rest of the day at the training field, battering every man who stepped in to spar with him.
After a while, Kian suggested he should take a break, but he didn’t listen.
It was the only thing that kept the anger from driving him to hunt down Sig.
Even after Ingvald returned and confirmed Sig had left the village, the fury still clung to him like a second skin.
Night fell, and everyone returned to the longhouse. By now, exhaustion weighed on Aevar, and every muscle ached. But his mind wouldn’t settle. When he and Eadlyn retired to their room for the night, he stripped off his gear and went through the motions of bedtime in a daze.
“Would you like me to read tonight?” Eadlyn asked.
“If you want.” He realized how cold he sounded, but he had no real desire for her tales tonight.
She paused, a small hitch in her breath.
When he dropped onto his bed, he caught the frown on her face before she turned away, gathering a few parchment pages like she did every night. Guilt pricked at him.
She read softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
He tried to listen, but her words were nothing but a distance hum.
She didn’t read long. After a murmured goodnight, she blew out the lamps and climbed into her bed, leaving Aevar to lie in the dark and stare at the ceiling.
His body was heavy, his thoughts heavier.
And now, with no sword in his hand and nothing to fight, he couldn’t escape the truth.
He had begun to care.
Not just for her safety. Not just for the alliance.
For her.
Eadlyn.
Care enough that the threat of harm to her left him barely in control. For the first time in three years, something he had thought long dead surged inside him. It was terrifying, because caring meant he had something to lose again, and he couldn’t survive another loss.
A slow breath dragged through his lungs. He forced his eyes shut and reached for the armor he’d spent years building. Maybe if he rebuilt it fast enough, he could pretend this had never happened.