Chapter twelve #2
I glanced down to see Edvard’s face was more pale than it had been even the day before. The dark circles beneath his eyes gave him a sunken, half-cadaverous look, which was the only reason I asked, “United on what?”
“War.”
My stomach hollowed out, but I kept my stride as Edvard led the way to our father’s council room. The path was familiar, and a cold slice of dread crept into my chest as the stone walls closed around me. “War with whom?”
“With everyone, if father has his way.” We stopped outside the wooden door of the council chambers, the voices of men and clinking of glasses beyond the door telling me we were among the last to arrive. “I need you to help me protect Stalheim.”
I let out a mirthless laugh and tossed the uneaten toast into a potted plant. “Since when have you cared about protecting anything but yourself?”
Something dark flashed in Edvard’s eyes, gone again before I could make sense of it. “I didn’t mean for her to die.”
My blood ran cold as I thought of the bloody linens from this morning. Had hers been the same? Or much, much worse?
Steady, Baldur warned, his voice back to its normal volume.
“You raped her.” My voice was cold, but steady, my mask of disinterest firmly in place. I still towered above Edvard, and it was gratifying to see him shrink back a step. “You put a babe in her you had no intention of claiming, and it killed her. Who else is responsible, if not you?”
Edvard stopped me as I placed my hand on the door handle, and I seriously considered breaking his wrist.
“Believe what you want about me, Arik. You have good reason to hate me.” When I met his gaze, it was ice. “But if you don’t stand with me now, Father will burn this kingdom to the ground, and I have no desire to be king over the ashes.”
I frowned, studying him as he entered the council room before following several paces behind.
No news from Kindra except that the Scar has grown another half dragon-length, Baldur rumbled.
In only a day and a half? Fuck, it felt like everything was falling apart. I didn’t understand what the Scar was yet or how it had formed, but I knew in my bones that it wasn’t good.
I found a place on one side of the huge oak table in the center of the room, a great map of the human lands spread across its surface.
The jarls were all present, including Arne, who gave me a subtle nod and edged his way toward me. He glowered at Edvard like he was something nasty on the bottom of his boot.
“Alright, lad?” Arne murmured as my father finished a hushed conversation with a man who must be nearly a century in age.
One of the skalds—the keepers of ancient texts—I realized, based on the worn blue robes he wore.
He moved as if a firm wind could knock him down.
If only he had the Book with him, I could take it and get Eisa out of here today.
But his gnarled hands were empty save for the quill and paper on which he took frantic notes.
Arne bumped my shoulder. “Ye look like ye need a drink.”
I nodded once, the only reply I could make as my father shouted for quiet in the room.
“Well then,” he boomed, his voice falsely jovial as if he were waiting to bestow a gift on us all. Several of the jarls glanced nervously at each other, knowing as well as I that we were likely about to receive the opposite. “My jarls, my heir, and my son. Sit, sit!”
Chairs screeched as the assembled jarls and I took our places around the massive table.
There were twelve jarls in all from across Stalheim, each with their own personal alliances and grudges. Arne’s territory was the largest and most autonomous, which made him the most disliked. He pointedly ignored the glances of the other jarls, his focus on the map before us.
Edvard, I noticed, remained standing, his back to the corner behind Father and his gaze cold as he also stared at the map.
“First, the most pressing business. My skalds have confirmed that Einar’s death was justified under dragon law.
” King Arkyn gestured to the elderly skald, whose head was bowed over the paper on which he furiously scratched his notes.
“As such, my son is hereby exonerated of all accusations of wrongdoing and will formally be granted the title of Dragehersker.”
I blinked in surprise, assuming my trial would be a long, drawn-out ordeal. It was unlike my father not to make a show of such a thing, but his eyes revealed nothing when they met mine across the table.
There was a smattering of tepid applause that didn’t make me feel any more at ease. Arne crossed his arms next to me, his brow furrowed as if waiting for a blow.
It came a moment later.
“And now, the reason I have gathered you all for an Althing.”
I blinked, realizing this was the Althing. Every jarl was gathered, which was the only requirement, and dread filled me as my father moved a small stone figure across the map, beyond the Reaches and toward the Fae Realm to the north.
A stone figure that looked suspiciously like a dragon.
My father’s steely eyes met mine. “War is upon us.”
And I knew he wasn’t talking about the Rift.
“Within the fortnight, I wish to have troops from every jarldom gathered north of the Reaches.” Several of the jarls raised their voices in surprise and outrage, but my father silenced them with a hand. “At least a thousand men from every clan.”
“War with whom?” Arne barked, his body tense as a bowstring as several other jarls made noises of agreement. “There is nothing to the north for us. Nothing but the fae lands, and to cross into them is certain death.”
“It would be.” The king’s eyes didn’t leave mine, and Baldur rumbled in warning as I realized what he was planning. “If we didn’t have two hundred dragons on our side.”