Chapter 46
—Broan—
Broan sat in his father’s council room with more people than he cared to count.
Jarl Harlik sat at his large table, chair towering over his body like a bear.
To his left, Thane Freydis stood. He was the man who had been there upon Broan’s first arrival nearly two weeks ago.
He was the Warlord Councilor, supreme to everyone but the Jarl.
To his right stood Yrsa. Ingrid leaned against the wall, picking at her nails with disinterest. She was ready to start the conversation, but the moment Thane entered the room, she rolled her eyes and leaned back.
Lief stood tall—as tall as the poor bastard could amongst the other skyscraping Vikings.
Kaelthar and Ithril sat off to the side near the fire, watching stoically while Broan approached the Jarl. “Why would I lie about the Lorekeeper?” he asked after spending nearly an hour explaining his encounter with Skald in the Meadhouse.
“For yer fuckin’ alliance,” Thane said, arms crossing over his chest. Inked into his skin, the sweeping lines of his family crest coiled across his shoulders and collarbone, framing eyes the color of burnished gold.
The sides of his head were shaved, the top braided and knotted, adorned with polished antler tips.
His beard, long and pale as straw, hung in three thick braids to the center of his chest, each bound with iron clasps that caught the firelight.
Thick fur pauldrons draped over his shoulder, while a battle skirt of quilted leather and pelts hung over armored boots strapped tight with rawhide. His belts were layered with iron buckles, the standard attire for a soldier—one the Jarl matched in his own way.
“I have no use in lying,” Broan said, placing his thumbs into his belt to puff out his chest. “You can ask that bastard himself if you can find him.”
Jarl Harlik stood and snapped his fingers. “Lief. Retrieve the Lorekeeper.”
Lief dropped his shoulders and left. When he returned, Skald was in tow, hunched over and weak. His milky eye remained fixed on Broan as his other eye scanned the room. His presence haunted Broan, the amount of knowledge and stories that might have been trapped in the old man’s head.
“Mighty Jarl,” his voice rasped. He sat in a seat across the table, facing the Jarl, and waited in silence.
“I take it you’re not blind to the reason for your presence, then?” the jarl rumbled.
Broan stifled a laugh. For a brutal man, he appreciated the play on the old man’s vision. He was only pissed he didn’t come up with it himself. He fought the smile tugging on his lips, then glanced at Ithril. Her face was still as she stared into the fire.
“Aye,” Skald said. “The Ashborn stirs.”
Thane crossed his arms. “And you’re certain the Ashborn is amongst the Elvish?”
The Lorekeeper nodded, his smoky eye now moving to scan the room while his good eye remained still. “I am certain.”
“Mind telling me what the Ashborn is?” Broan asked, still searching Ithril for answers.
Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Twenty-six years ago, dirty magic stirred. It’s when Skald began to lose his vision, but he became a reader instead. The first thing he saw was an Ashborn child.”
“And it means?” Broan waved his hands in the air for more.
“This person is part of our prophecies to save the land from death,” Lief answered.
Yrsa sat, contemplating this. “Do you have any way to find this fire person? I hear they have a whole island of mages with fire.”
“Aye, her name is Kienna.”
Broan jolted his head so quickly that he nearly whiplashed his neck. “I may need to clean my ears. What did you fucking say?”
“Kienna,” the Lorekeeper spoke again, in a tight whisper.
Broan held his face steady, but his insides begged for a reaction.
For a snarky response he could give to hide the fact that he was utterly shocked.
He turned to Kaelthar and Ithril, gleaning their reactions.
Ithril remained expressionless, as if the information didn’t spark her one way or another.
Kaelthar, on the other hand, seemed troubled.
He placed his hand to his beard and chewed on the side of his cheek.
“You don’t seem pleased,” Ingrid said.
“She was with me in River Storm. She’s…a complicated bitch.”
“Explain,” the jarl demanded.
Broan searched Kaelthar. Kaelthar inhaled deeply and said, “She’s an Elvish princess, but also related to the magic king.”
“And you want her on the throne?” Harlik spat at Kaelthar.
Skald nodded slowly. “This is what the prophecy spoke of. Fight beside her or be lost forever. Not even Eldry can help us.”
Broan rolled his eyes. Yet another piece of information that he had to catch up on. Studying maps with Ithril didn’t get him there fast enough. He wanted to know the world he had missed out on his whole life. “What is the prophecy? And why her?”
Skald seemed to drift from them, a cloudy color encompassing his other eye.
When he came back, he said, “She is strong. I see a battle well fought…” He paused again, as if searching his mind for the words.
“The power within her will serve the realm well next to the man of light. Her position will be enacted by one with a blue sigil and sealed by the one with the red.”
There were a lot of things Broan wanted to discuss from Skald’s words. Who was the man of light? Why did Kienna get fucking powers and a prophecy? Red lightning jagged across Broan’s temple. “Who has the blue?”
“A healer.”
“Fucking Danek?” Broan laughed. “No shit! He gets one, too?”
Harlik remained silent alongside Yrsa and Thane.
He stood and turned slowly, the weight of his broad frame creaking the floor beneath him as he moved.
The firelight caught in the iron of his eyes, and for the first time, they did not burn with rage, but calculation.
A grunt escaped his throat, not dismissive, but closer to a reluctant approval.
“Ingrid and Lief will be goin’ with ya.”
Broan gave a tight nod. “I’ll use what I’m given.”
“You say goodbye to yer ma before you leave. And take the fucking Lorekeeper.”
“Aye, but after that, I want to know where we stand. If I take your blood with me into war, I expect to know what comes next.”
“The Elvish cannot keep you,” Harlik said narrowly.
“We will make a Viking of you yet, Broan Darsen of the Mountainborn. But, if you want my full army behind your cause, I’ll need more than a speech and a fuckin’ prophecy.
Bring me proof that Queen Elira stands with her people and not above them.
Only then will the mountain rise for war. ”