Chapter 49 #3
“He wants me to renounce the throne,” Elira said, the edge of a knife covering her tone. Her fingers pushed into her palms. “Or name an heir.”
“Sounds like it,” Lief affirmed.
These people were better at riddles than Kienna. When Ingrid said Elira needed to stand with her people, she wouldn’t have deduced it meant naming an heir. She almost snorted at the thought. Seredai scoffed as Alister broke into a snide laugh.
“The Belok family has ruled the Elvish realm for hundreds of years.” Seredai was out of her seat, lecturing the Vikings on Elvish history.
Try not to panic, Connak whispered in Kienna’s mind.
She turned to face him, his lake of green staring at the Vikings. Why would I panic?
“So, they will force my hand for the aid of keeping my people safe?” Elira scolded.
Ingrid moved toward the queen. “Keep your people safe? You are the keeper of the magic, are you not?”
An uproar in the council room broke out, Vikings yelling accusations at the Elvish for hoarding the one thing keeping the realm alive.
The Elvish women pointed fingers at the brutes for never making an effort.
Alister stood behind everyone watching, as he always did.
The room grew so loud between them that Kienna couldn’t hear Connak’s voice in her mind.
Seredai leaned over and whispered into Elira’s ear.
“I’ve heard enough!” Elira silenced the room, a gust of air pushing through the entrance of the tree. The Vikings reached for their weapons, unsheathing them while their eyes darted around. “I will name an heir.”
“The jarl will want to know who,” Ingrid said.
“He will have to grant me enough time to consult—”
“No,” Ingrid interrupted, fixating back on Kienna. She startled at the attention. “There is only one heir left in your bloodline.”
Elira’s face grew paler than the iciest moonlit night. Kienna caught a gasp threatening her throat as she backed away from the light. This whole thing was reckless. Did Elira not think through this before agreeing to their demands? Connak’s presence remained strong behind her.
Danek’s hand reached for her, pulling her forward. “I’ve got you,” he whispered.
Don’t falter in front of the Vikings, Connak warned. I know this isn’t what you want, but it’s coming, and they don’t take well to weakness.
Broan nodded, lifting his axe and pushing the hilt back into the ground as confirmation. “It needs to be Kienna.”
“Why?” Elira demanded.
“Because,” Broan shrugged, pointing to the final Viking. The older man had as many white hairs in his beard as he had in years. He was the one Ingrid referred to as Skald Eirik. “This old bastard says so.”
“Blood doesn’t always mean loyalty,” Alister muttered at Elira’s side, loud enough for Kienna to catch. It was masked as counsel, but the words cut deeper than doubt.
“Well, go on, Skald.” Ingrid pushed against the old man until he came into view. “Speak your lore and be done with it.”
The Lorekeeper moved with the slowness of age but none of the weakness. He smelled of old ink, the way an ancient book would smell after years in the dust. His voice, when it came, was low and rough. “Kienna,” he said, the words curling like smoke.
Danek pushed her to stand in front of the Viking clan. She moved slowly. Wearily. She kept her head high as Connak urged.
“Ashborn. They whispered of you long before your first breath. The prophecy remembers you,” Skald said.
“What could you possibly know of it?” Kienna stumbled.
“When the Ashborn child walks between worlds and bears fire’s end, peace shall bare her crown.
” He started to step back, then stopped.
Quietly, his white eye swirled. He squinted at Connak, then at Tristian, a dawn of recognition.
“Strange,” Skald muttered, thumb dragging through his beard, eyes unfocused, as if listening past the room.
“There are verses the song won’t give me.
” He shifted uneasily. “Not yet.” He dared a glance back at Tristian.
Kienna turned to see what he could be measuring, but there was nothing there but a hollow man.
“She’ll find the light and the breath when the path opens for it. But the crown?” He gave a single nod. “That part is iron-true. She will be queen.”
Kienna motioned to turn, to walk to Connak.
To tell the room that perhaps they were mistaken.
She didn’t want to be the Ashborn child.
She couldn’t be. The old Viking man was wrong.
Everything in her demanded she tell Elira they didn’t need the Vikings as an ally.
They could find a way through this raging attack from the north.
Maybe the heavens would shine upon them, and King Vaerin would give up.
The fire in her heart burned deeply with fear.
She spent her whole life trying not to burn. Why did they keep asking her to?
She pushed her mind outward to go anywhere but there. She called Ruva again. She begged for her wolf. Deafening silence met her.
Relax, Connak said. They aren’t naming you queen right now.
Why do they have their own prophecy about the Ashborn? And why couldn’t we do this more privately?
She’s naming you heiress. You’ll only resume the throne if she dies.
“You can name your heir, Queen Elira,” Skald said, his voice scraping like stone. “But it was never yer choice to make.”
Elira’s fingers twitched against the fabric of her dress, the only betrayal of her otherwise frozen posture. “I will name Kalyra of Belok,” she said, heavy but firm.
Her glacial eyes fell onto Kienna, along with the rest of the room. Kienna’s heart nearly fumbled through her mouth. She remained silent and tried to hide the all-encompassing fear surging through her.
Broan let out a merry laugh. “Well, congratulations. You’re a fucking princess after all.”