Chapter 28
—Broan—
Broan returned to the jarl’s home with Ithril around dinner time.
He promised Kaelthar he would at least keep his word and let his mother dine with him.
A younger Viking woman answered the door when he arrived.
She had dirty brown hair, tousled with braids, jewels in her ears, and wore a simple, orange dress.
She curtsied. Broan turned to his Elvish companion and smirked.
He’d only been there a day, and maidens were curtsying. “I’m here for the jarl.”
“Aye, I know of you, Broan Darsen. You’re awaited. This way, if it suits you,” she said, stepping aside for Broan and Ithril to enter.
The maiden led them through a hall and deep into the rocky formation of the mountain.
Great flames kept the path well lit; a warm greeting compared to the jarl’s council room.
When they reached an intricately carved door, the maiden opened it to reveal a dining hall, its walls dark and smooth, veined with silver and iron.
A single, long table stretched the length of the room, crafted from rich, blackened wood and set low enough to feel grounded.
The legs were carved in the likeness of roaring bears, paws resting atop bronze spheres.
Yrsa stood as Broan entered. She had changed into a brown dress, stitched with pale patterns near the hem. Her cloak draped over her shoulders, heavy with fur and edged in gold. Two Vikings flanked her, a man and a woman. “My ghost,” Yrsa said. “Ingrid. Lief. Stand for yer brother.”
The lad stood first. Fresh out of boyhood, Lief was shorter than the rest, with dark brown hair falling past his shoulders, tied back halfway.
His deep brown eyes were steady and set him apart from Yrsa.
His skin held a warm, sun-burnished tone.
He wore thick furs layered over a well-worn leather tunic.
“This is Lief,” Yrsa said, her voice steady. “Yer brother. Watcher of the Mountain Walls. And this,” she pointed to the woman, now standing. She turned to Broan. “This is Ingrid. General of the Viking Warband.”
Now, this woman was formidable. Her deep, sea-colored eyes bore into Broan.
She stood tall and confident, as if the world should have bent to her will.
Her dark mahogany hair was long and shaved at one side, the other bound by braids etched with carved metal.
Her arms were tattooed with sigils of the bear alongside ancient texts.
She wore a scar on her face similar to their father’s.
Broan rubbed his cheek, wondering if it was a rite of passage.
Ingrid glanced at Broan before her gaze flicked to the Elvish woman behind him.
“Didn’t know we opened our doors to pointy-eared strays. ”
Yrsa tsked. “We’re hostin’ tonight, Ingrid. Mind yer tongue and show some manners. The Elvish are the ones who found him.”
Ingrid would be tough to crack. Perhaps a proper opponent for once. Lief, on the other hand, appeared to be more twig than blood and eager to be there. Broan grunted and nodded toward them. “This is Tightstrings.” Ithril cleared her throat. Broan smiled but didn’t correct himself.
“Sit yerselves down.” Yrsa waved her hand to the empty seats next to Lief and Ingrid.
Broan led Ithril to the seat closest to Ingrid and took his place next to Lief. Behind him, a large hearth flickered with flames from a sculpted bronze grate shaped like a bear’s gaping maw. Warmth radiated.
The door opened again shortly after Broan and Ithril sat. Jarl Harlik approached with focused intent. He glanced around the room, eyes falling to Broan as he approached his chair at the head of the table. “Yrsa,” Harlik nodded.
She returned the nod. “My Bear.”
A scowling exhale escaped from the jarl when he addressed the rest of the table, scanning Ingrid first, followed by Lief—where he lingered too long—then he glared at Broan. Finally, he found Ithril. “Who in the gods’ name invited her to dine?”
“She is my guest,” Broan said, standing from the table.
The jarl simply howled a laugh. “Yer a lover of elves.”
Broan couldn’t quite understand why that was a bad thing, respecting the army that strengthened his magic and pulled him from River Storm.
Jarl Harlik thought it was a strong enough retort, though, as did Ingrid, who snorted.
Broan only huffed and smiled. “Considering Ithril could strike you with her arrow before you even drew your battle axe, I’d say she’s skilled enough to gain my respect. ”
Ithril shifted, her eyes smiling as she fought against her lips.
“I don’t care who you fuckin’ respect,” the jarl sneered as food trays were carried into the hall. The scent of roasted meat, smoked herbs, and mountain pine hung in the air. “You’ll do well to be careful, boy. Yer Elvish are no lovers of the Viking.”
Broan shared a glance with Ithril. She didn’t seem to respond to Harlik’s accusation, but she did admit to the relationship being strained before they got there.
At the fault of whom, she never said. Broan curled his lip and then turned back to Harlik.
He sat and said, “I’m fucking starving. Do we eat, or do we continue questioning who loves whom? ”
Harlik scoffed and waved his hand. “Thora. Plate.”
The woman who had greeted Broan at the door stepped forward and curtsied to the jarl. “Aye, My Lord.” She reached across Broan and carved into the roast sitting on the table, garnished with herbs. “My pardon, Lord. I’ll tend yer plate once the jarl has his.”
As if that wasn’t about to go to Broan’s head. He grinned as he looked at Ithril. Ingrid stared at him from across the table, lips puffed in a sneer. “Why are you here?” she asked.
Lief leaned over, peering between the maiden, Thora’s, arms. “Best you pardon Ingrid. She’s sour company at the best of times.”
Yrsa placed her hand on Ingrid’s and squeezed, perhaps as a warning.
Ingrid sucked inward and clicked her tongue against her teeth.
Their mother turned toward the open table as Thora plated for everyone else.
When she reached Ithril, her eyes shifted toward the jarl.
He twitched his neck to dismiss her, and she stepped back.
Broan blinked. Did he ever come off as this uninviting to others? He stood and pushed his plate to Ithril, taking her empty one. He could plate for himself anyway. Letting others do it only reminded him of dinners at the castle in River Storm, and he’d been subject to enough of those.
“Broan.” Yrsa’s voice tickled against his ears, the way she said his name with the warmth of a mother. “Tonight, we honor yer return. Shall we speak no more of the Elvish?”
“Depends.” Broan set his plate down and folded his arms. “Can you be more respectful to the one in front of you?”
“Aye,” Yrsa said.
Lief nodded as well. Ingrid only grunted, and the jarl chewed his bits of meat. Broan sat again, giving a low, single nod to Ithril.
“Tell me,” the jarl said in between bites. “When they said you’d be meetin’ yer kin, what was yer first reaction?”
Broan shrugged and tossed a bone from his meat over his shoulder. “I grew up an orphan. I didn’t bother to think I had kin.”
“And yer reaction?” Ingrid pressed.
They shared a glance. The whole table had their eyes on him, Yrsa and Lief more hopeful than the scowling forces of the jarl and Ingrid.
Ithril remained unamused. At least she’d left the bow behind.
Broan paused to put thought into this question.
He’d been mildly annoyed the moment Kaelthar revealed he had a family, and the annoyance grew even further the more he talked about them during the trek up the mountains.
He didn’t learn much. He could barely pay attention.
Broan played it off, but now they were all staring at him, and he couldn’t deny it.
He folded his hands together. “I’m pissed.
I was put inside a wall and raised myself.
Now, I’m twenty-six, and I’ve got to sit through this awkward fucking dinner, answering why I’m not loyal to you yet. ”
“And yer magic?” Lief asked, leaning forward with a smile and widened eyes. “I heard you had it as a kitling. I’ve never seen magic meself.”
Lief’s eager eyes sparked a sense of responsibility in his bones.
A young lad searching for a brother he never got.
Broan had a brother—one he left behind in the forest. What was Danek up to?
Broan hoped he found himself a woman or two.
Maybe three. His lips twitched. He turned back to Lief. “I’ll show you if you’d like.”
“Aye, that I would!”
“Try that in this city, and you’ll have steel in your back before you speak,” the jarl scowled.
“Above the mountains,” Lief whispered.
Broan nodded.
The night ran on in silence after that. When the plates were empty, Thora stepped forward and cleared the table.
The jarl yawned and stood. His eyes scanned the room once more, then he grumbled before leaving.
Yrsa rose and swiped at her children to follow suit.
When the jarl’s thundering footsteps faded completely, she smoothed her dress.
“Ingrid, how is the Warband? Any news from Thane on the Seabound?”
Ingrid sat back down and leaned to the side, propping her feet on the table. “The Seabound returns in a week’s time. Their raid was a success.”
Their mother placed her knuckles together in a half-praying motion. “You’re dismissed, my fierce one.” Ingrid removed her feet from the table and stood. As she motioned for the door, Yrsa grasped her. “They go to the mountains, you follow. Make sure they don’t do anything foolish.”
“Aye.” Ingrid left.
Yrsa turned to Lief. “My boy, the mountain wind hasn’t stolen yer voice yet? Are ye still singin’?”
Lief twiddled his thumbs, shared a glance with Broan, and said, “Only when the halls are empty. Seems the bears don’t like ballads.”
Broan leaned forward, placing his hands on the table as he studied Lief.
He wasn’t necessarily surprised to hear the boy sang but he was intrigued to learn about them.
It was a nice shift from their experience at dinner.
They’d been so rigid during the jarl’s presence, and now, with Yrsa alone, they’d loosened a bit.
Yrsa approached Lief. She placed her hands on both sides of his jaw, squeezing. “Let the bears grumble. The gods gave you a gift. You’re dismissed. Broan will find you when we’ve settled his friend.”
Lief leaned into his mother’s hands. He glanced back over his shoulder at Broan and then let Thora open the doors for him on his way out.
“Oh, my ghost.” Yrsa’s voice floated like a whisper. Broan looked at Ithril first. She sat, eyes glued to the table, but met his stare. Yrsa pulled on Broan’s arm, and he stood. “Don’t let yer father’s cold words deter you from us.”
Broan laughed. “I was raised by a man worse than him, if you’d believe it.”
“Aye.” Her eyes dipped, a sadness emanating in the way her hand dropped from his arm. “Yer father spent years lookin’ for the king. It made him a shell for a time.”
Broan gave her a kiss on the cheek, a surprise to even him.
She held it on her face and then floated her hand to his jaw.
She studied the firmness of his cheeks as if she’d expected her fingers to float through him.
Broan let it warm him for a moment and then stepped away.
“Ithril will need a room. I do not expect we’ll force her into an inn. ”
Yrsa turned her attention to the Elvish woman, glancing her up and down before nodding. “We’ll be proper hosts. Come, Ithril. I’ll show you our best guest room. Well away from Ingrid and the jarl.”
Ithril bowed in thanks, following Yrsa.
Broan turned to Thora. “Mind showing me where I can find Lief? I’ve got some fucking good magic to show him.”