Chapter 30 Svenn #2
Garrett joins us and starts helping out. He organizes tools that were scattered during the flood, wiping mud off metal and setting them in proper order. Even Shade contributes, sweeping debris from the corners and making himself useful in his own quiet way.
After a while, Garrett speaks without looking up. "The fae commander requested permission to bring his people here. The survivors from his legion—about three hundred warriors."
"Here? To Volundr?" I ask, eyes narrowing at the thought.
Garrett adjusts the forge temperature and nods. "They need sanctuary. Eirik's forces are hunting them."
I remember the Fae King's mistress turning on Landon and his legion. His warriors slaughtered by their own people.
I glance at Garrett. "Has she… allowed it?"
He picks up another tool to clean. "Aelfric says Landon's taking advantage of the mate bond, but whatever the reason, she has granted it."
Hrolf pauses his hammering. "Your wife can grant sanctuary to fae warriors?"
"Of course she can," Garrett says, confused by the question.
"But that's a major decision. Wouldn't she need approval from the Council or the queen?"
Garrett laughs, amused. "Hrolf, Rhianelle is the queen. She can do whatever she wants. There is no higher authority."
The hammer in Hrolf's hand lowers slowly. He turns to face me, eyes wide. "Your wife is Rhianelle Wiolant? The queen of Aelfheim?"
"Yes."
The dwarf stares at me blankly.
Wait, I'm sure I mentioned it before. But then I realize Hrolf has been stuck in this prison cell for months. During all our conversations, I never once said Rhianelle's name. I never told him who my wife actually was. He had no idea he was saving the Queen of Aelfheim when he gave his blood.
Hrolf keeps staring. His breathing changes, becoming shallow and rapid. The air feels heavy between us, charged with unspoken truths.
"Are you all right?" I ask, stepping a little closer.
Before he can answer, there's commotion from outside.
"What's that?" Shade moves to the forge entrance, the wolf following.
We join them, looking out toward the main plaza. People are gathering, hundreds of them despite the scorching heat of the sun.
Then my breath catches. She's there, alive and whole, standing in the sunlight.
Rhianelle steps onto the raised platform at the plaza's center. Her silver hair is loose around her shoulders and she's wearing a simple dress.
The crowd erupts in applause the moment they see her, a wave of relief and joy rippling through the plaza.
Their queen and their savior, the one who faced the tidal wave that nearly drowned Volundr and commanded the waters to retreat.
She is here, alive, whole, and well. Every gaze follows her with awe and reverence.
Rhianelle raises her hands for quiet. The noise dies down gradually, fading from a roar to murmurs to silence.
"My people," she says. Her voice carries across the square. "I stand before you today thanks to the efforts of many. Healers who worked tirelessly, warriors who protected us, and unexpected allies who offered aid."
She gestures and Landon steps onto the platform beside her.
"This is Landon," Rhianelle continues. "Commander of the fae forces that once fought against us. But circumstances have changed. He and his warriors have been betrayed by their own king, hunted by their own people."
Murmurs ripple through the crowd.
"I am granting them sanctuary," Rhianelle announces. "Landon and his warriors will be given refuge in Volundr. They will be treated as guests."
This is the queen speaking and her word is law.
I watch the golden threads pulse between Rhianelle and Landon, shimmering in the air between them in rays of pure light.
It should destroy me and send me into a rage that tears apart everything in reach.
But I find myself strangely calm.
This is temporary. Their bond is healing her. Once the thread of fate between Landon and Rhianelle has done its job, I'll act. I'll steal Rhianelle away. I'll take her somewhere the Un can't find us, somewhere beyond their reach.
There has to be some corner of the world where they don't hold sway. I just have to be patient and wait for the right moment.
We'll build a life beyond fate's manipulation.
I just have to be patient.
Movement beside me pulls my attention. Hrolf is staring at the plaza with an expression I can't read. His face has gone pale, the hammer clenched tight in his fist.
"Hrolf?" I ask. "What's wrong?"
He doesn't answer. His gaze stays locked on Rhianelle like he's seeing a ghost.
Fear crawls up my spine. Hrolf knows now the girl he saved, the one he bled for, is the Queen of Aelfheim. Ruler of the kingdom responsible for so much dwarven death. The daughter of the queen who besieged his people, who starved them in their mountain and nearly wiped them from existence.
I think he regrets saving her. Perhaps he wishes he'd let her die.
"Hrolf," I try again.
He remains frozen, his eyes fixed on the young queen in the plaza below.
There's so much bad blood between elves and dwarves. Centuries of betrayal and atrocities on both sides. Hrolf's own daughter died because of the elves, his people destroyed by elven conquest.
Sometimes I forget. Hrolf is the Butcher of Dunrovin. Is he going to try to kill her?
Shadows gather around my fingers instinctively. I don't want to do this. But if he tries to hurt Rhianelle, I'll—
Hrolf bursts into a hearty laugh.
The sound is so unexpected I flinch. It's deep and resonant, echoing through the forge and out into the street. There's no bitterness in it—only genuine amusement, delight even, as if he's just heard the best joke in years.
He turns away from the plaza and walks back to the forge. Back to the anvil where the armor sits half-finished. The dwarf picks up different tools. Heavier ones that demand skill and strength.
"What are you doing?" I ask, completely confused.
"What does it look like?" He grins at me, the expression transforming his weathered face.
"I'm going to make that girl a sword."