Chapter 29
—Broan—
Lief led Broan to the tallest of the mountains. When he told Broan they’d have to climb, Broan mocked him. Surely the Mountainborn had better methods of getting to the top than scaling the rocks, but the jarl was a superstitious man and felt stairs gave enemies an easy way to descend into the city.
Broan’s brother handed him a harness, ice picks, and shoes made of spikes to make digging into the ice easier.
Ingrid appeared when they first started scaling, slamming her own ice pick into the rocks and flying up with ease.
Lief moved faster until they were neck and neck up the mountain.
Broan hung there, his pick in the rocks, watching them.
Why the hell was he trying to climb the mountain?
He dropped off and let his feet hit the ground, watching Ingrid and Lief climb with impressive stealth.
When they reached the top, Broan looked around him.
He didn’t see anyone who would earn him a scolding from the jarl.
He placed his hand deep beneath the snow until he met stone.
The earth shook under his feet. His hand lit with a soft bronze glow until the rocks jolted from around the peak. Like natural stairs, Broan climbed them step by step, each one disappearing after he left it. If the clouds were made of stone, it would have felt like this.
At the top, Lief’s mouth gaped open. “Gods, that was something!”
Ingrid didn’t look nearly as impressed. She flipped the mahogany braid off her shoulder. “Yer face always light up like that? You look cursed.”
Broan’s hand went to the red sigil on his temple, like a lightning bolt through his hair. He shrugged. She only scowled because she’d never understand what it felt like to be on top of the fucking earth and commanding it as her own. He turned to Lief. “What else do you want to see?”
Lief’s eyes lit up, the white snowflakes reflecting in pools of deep brown. “What else can you do?”
What else could he do? The question almost made Broan boast to the world.
He ground his feet into the mountain and coaxed the peak higher.
They went into the clouds, Lief and Ingrid holding onto each other to keep their balance.
The wind slapped Broan’s face, an exhilarating rush to his cheeks.
He smirked, cocking one brow. He enjoyed seeing them squirm under what he could do.
When the mountain stilled, Lief bellowed a laugh into the open air. Icy clouds curled around them, parting to reveal a break in the heavens. Above, the night stretched wide and black, scattered with a thousand sharp points of light. The stars shimmered like shards of glass cast across a dark sea.
“Bring us down!” Ingrid snapped, pushing away from Lief and stepping toward Broan. Her hand reached for a knife tucked into her belt.
Broan shrugged. “If you say so.” He curled stone over their feet to keep them in place and then let the mountain go.
It quickly dropped to its original height, shaking the surrounding peaks.
Ingrid and Lief nearly fell over, leaning forward to ground themselves in the snow.
When the mountain settled, Broan peeled the stone from their boots.
Lief fell into the snow and loosened a deep breath from his chest. “I hated every moment of it, and it was the best damn thing I’ve seen.”
Broan chuckled as he sat next to him. “You’re different from what I thought.”
Lief sat up. “You’re exactly how I imagined. Right down to the madness.”
Ingrid spat on the ground, kicking at the snow. She resolved to sit apart from them, her brows tethered tightly together. She fixed the bones woven in her hair and looked below the peak. “Yer magic won’t impress any of them.”
“I don’t need to impress them,” Broan said.
“You should. Yer the heir to the hearthseat.”
Broan drew back, eyes narrowing as the weight of it hit him. He certainly wasn’t pushing for the jarl’s position. He barely understood anything about Viking culture, yet his magic ached in his bones, begging for Broan to wield the very rocks that built it. He shook his head. “I only have one goal.”
Ingrid’s scowl deepened. “To fuck yer Elvish friend?”
Broan laughed, a deep, hearty laugh burning in his belly. “Hasn’t crossed my mind, actually. No.” He sobered quickly. “To stop the King of River Storm.”
Silence enveloped them. Ingrid lived during the Great War.
According to Kaelthar, she was on the ship that burned.
She would have been six, plenty of time to remember the tragedy that came across the entire realm when Vaerin tore it down for four children.
Though her lips remained tight, her eyes lowered.
They sat in their thoughts for a while, the chill of the wind whistling with the snow.
Broan’s beard frosted over. He turned his attention to the dimly lit city in the heart of the Whiteridge Mountains.
They’d never be safe on their own. Tristian was right.
They’d need the Elvish blade. If the rest of the clan reacted anywhere near the way Ingrid did—with raw fear—at the hint of magic, they’d never stand up to the king’s army.
“Ingrid,” Broan sighed. He wouldn’t bother giving her a name. She’d spit it in his face. “This Elvish alliance—”
“Fuck yer alliance.”
“Yeah, okay, then fuck the Viking clan.” Broan kept his tone even. This was not the time for emotion. “You don’t know what’s coming.”
Ingrid slapped at the snow, white dust floating away with the wind. “We’ve done fine without the pointy-eared bastards. Don’t see why we’d start needin’ them now.”
“Except there’s a madman who owns a kingdom and an entire army of dead creatures with power that could wipe the Elvish out.”
“Good.” Ingrid crossed her arms, a smirk playing on her face.
Lief straightened. “Maybe we should give this some thought, Grid.”
“Our father’s not one to bend. If he’s still breathin’, he’s said no. The Warband’s mine, and I say the same.”
Like father, like daughter. Whatever the Elvish did in their past, the Vikings would not loosen to them easily.
Tristain wanted him to clarify the alliance.
He had to think back. What was it about a sword?
He drank too much ale between his conversation with the High Commander and now.
He slid his head back, staring into the swirling clouds above him. “They don’t want your army.”
“Aye, they do. Always lookin’ after their own skins.” Ingrid stood from the frost and dusted herself off.
Broan stood, too, and leveled up to her.
He’d have to do this in the least respectful way possible.
He figured that was what she demanded. “You can keep your fucking army hidden in the mountains. It makes no fucking difference to them. When I say they don’t care for your armies, I mean it.
” He glanced at Lief, now standing closer to his sister.
A bravery he appreciated. “They want to give you their armies.”
“What for?”
“King Vaerin is a powerful fuck. The Elvish High Commander is set on protecting the realm. Fuck if I know why, but I’ve seen it. They aided in the desert and gave all they could to push the dead army out.”
For once, Ingrid’s jaw loosened. She looked at Lief, then back to Broan. “I’ll give it thought come morning.”
Broan didn’t press her further. He did all he could in that moment.
The wind rose around them, biting sharply through the gaps of their furs.
Somewhere in the valley, a bear groaned, deep and guttural.
Its voice was quickly swallowed by the cold.
Ingrid and Lief made no indication that they’d heard this creature.
They stood together, looking outward toward the echoing of the wind.
Their boots shifted against the frost. The sky stretched dark above them, clouds dragging slowly with the weight of their decisions pending between them.
Broan glanced at Lief. “You sing?”
Ingrid’s gaze lingered on Broan a moment longer before cutting to Lief. A smile burst on her face for the first time. “Go on then,” she said. “Let the mountain hear it.”
Lief cleared his pipes. “The Mountainborn began their song the night the ships burned. I worked with Skald to see it finished.”
He started in a low hum, one that took to the skies and reverberated all around them.
Lief’s voice came from deep within his chest, like old smoke curling through forests.
He had a growl to it, rough as stone, and a rasp that clung to every word like frost to fur.
What he lacked in height and breadth, his voice made up for it tenfold.
Broan folded his arms and listened, staring out into the darkness.
There was nothing else but the brutish voice of his brother.
“I hear the sea still call his name
The boy who vanished into flame.
The ships burned black beneath a blood-red sky
No gods to speak, no voice to ask them why.
And the tide rolled in with ash and smoke alone
The sea still sings his name.
Beneath Eldyr’s betrayal.
They say the storm was swift and wild,
That fire came and claimed the child.
To a mad king, once the flames had cleared,
But we still carry what our kin once feared.
For the waves still ebb, and the mountains hold.
We still sing his name.
Beneath Eldyr’s betrayal.
No sword, no scream, no chance to fight,
Just sails that vanished in the night.
A cradle lost beneath a sky of fire
A brother shaped from grief and silent pyres.
And though we’ve never seen his face, we’ve sung his name.
The sea still sings.
Beneath Eldyr’s betrayal.
Sail away, O Viking King,
To where no stars dare shine nor sing.
Let the sea forget what fire stole
Eldyr will not take away your soul.
Like our ships, the Vikings will rise again
Beneath Eldyr’s betrayal.”
As the last word trailed from his lips, the clouds opened and revealed the stars. Lief’s voice ripped into the night and lingered there. Ingrid beamed proudly, though Lief fidgeted with his hands. Broan puffed out a large cloud of air. “Well, fuck.”
“Our father scorns it, but only ‘cause it’s the part of Lief that’s his own kind o’ special,” Ingrid said, placing her hand on her brother’s shoulder. Lief looked up and smiled.
“I have follow-up questions,” Broan said. “What is Eldyr’s betrayal?”
Ingrid’s scowl returned. “It’s what we call the night our god failed us. The night you were taken from us.”
Lief glanced toward the jagged spires across the city, wind brushing the back of their necks now. “When the magic king burned the fleet, Eldyr did not send waves nor tide. As if Eldyr turned his back on them.”
Broan shifted. The snow seeped into his boots, and his toes cried for warmth. They’d been up there long enough, but Lief’s explanation about his song sparked another flame inside him. He blew hot air into his hands, then asked, “Who is Skald? The bastard visited me in the Meadhouse earlier.”
Lief went rigid. “Skald doesn’t visit without good reason. He’s our lorekeeper.”
“He said something about a throne and some Ashborn.”
“Skald pinned you as the road to the Ashborn?” Ingrid’s eyes grew wide. “Fuck! Our father is going to be pissed.”
Broan shrugged. “What for?”
Ingrid laughed dryly as the whistling wind returned. “He’ll approve your damn alliance. He has to, now.”