Prologue #2
“My Jarl.” He tosses the note on the bed before leaving without so much as a bow of respect.
Calder scans the words once before dropping the parchment on the floor.
“Anything else, my Lord?” He is now a head taller than Sigvid since he last saw him in Treland. Without waiting for a response, Calder sweeps to the door, leaving Sigvid alone.
Without a care, the King of Treland stuffs the discarded note into his pocket.
He stomps toward their lodgings without a sense of direction. He relies on Avina’s wedding ring, infused with seidr, to always locate her whereabouts.
Once away from the longhouse, he senses his Drengr converge from the shadows. Only then does Sigvid unfold the mysterious letter.
“C,
We anticipate returning home next week. The boy is enjoying his time with Grandpa ‘M.’ Your mother departed earlier this morning. She intends to meet the Beast King before he leaves.
I expect your attitude on our previous subject to change.
You know what we need to accomplish. This is bigger than you.
Sincerely,
Your loving wife”
What the fuck does that mean?
The next day feels very similar to the last. Calder flirts with women in town while downing bottles of mead. He drunkenly wrestles with several other young men in the mud before taking a dip in the icy Bay of Souls.
Avina and Sigvid are horrified, recalling the level-headed boy during the War for Treland.
To think that was only five winters ago.
Something has changed. But what?
Two days in Kaldrgataness turns to fucking five.
Five fucking days in this oppressed country.
After waking up before sunrise and promising his little Queen that they would leave for Treland the following day, he sheathes his blackwood-handled axes, now bearing his infamous runes along the handles, and storms toward the longhouse.
As he approaches the dock, an uneasiness creeps along his neck. Unlike the previous several days, no other person or creature lurks nearby.
Sigvid stops before the doors, finding them coated with thick ice and cold mist swirling around his face.
“Hello, Lord Commander.” Gunni jogs next to him as if waiting for the next visitor. “Can I help you with something?” He places himself between Sigvid and the double doors.
“What happened?”
“Nothing, Sir.” He rubs the back of his head. “Would you like a morning meal? Oarr owns the bakery and crafts the most delicious pies.”
Sigvid eyes him skeptically. “Gunni, you are a terrible liar.”
“It wasn’t his fault-”
Before he can finish, Sigvid holds up his hand. “Stand aside.”
His Drengr scrambles out of the way, allowing him to kick open the doors, shattering the crystals.
Ice coats everything from the floor to the ceiling beams, to the food still sitting out from the previous night’s revelry.
But that is not what unsettles him most.
Sigvid’s violent history is extensive, gruesome, and filled with limbs. He suppresses his disgust at the haunting scene before him.
In the longhouse, the people remain eternally frozen in their final moments of joy. Many savor their last meal or gulp mead that will never reach their stomachs. One laughing man hands coins to a topless woman sitting on his lap, her arms eternally reaching for his pouch of gold.
Sigvid carefully strides to Calder’s quarters, stepping over the frosted carpet.
“Who are these people?” He asks Gunni.
“Traders from Steinlund and a few townsfolk.”
Sigvid bursts into the Jarl’s bedchamber, discovering his young mentee, only twenty-five winters old, asleep in the massive bed while clutching a mead bottle. As he steps in, he kicks aside the empty bottles scattered on the floor.
“Avardsson!” His voice vibrates the bottles along the icy floorboards.
When Calder remains unresponsive, Sigvid grabs him by his ankles and pulls him out of bed, dragging the partially conscious Jarl along the floor. He mutters as he walks through the front doors, causing the young man’s head to bounce off the edge of each step.
Gunni runs alongside. “Lord Commander, please stop. This was an accident!”
Sigvid stops on the dock, grabs Calder by his tunic and trousers, and hurls him into the Bay of Souls.
They lean over the pier, waiting to see if he surfaces.
“Gunni.”
“Yes, my King.”
“Clean up the longhouse. I want this to stay between the three of us.”
“Yes, Lord Commander.” He disappears, ever eager to please.
Calder swims to the end of the dock and pulls himself out. He breathes heavily, sitting at the edge. Water drips from his massive frame, collecting on the decking. As Sigvid approaches, he notices it is freezing.
Silence grows between them, and he chooses not to shatter it. He lights his pipe bowl, inhaling a slight reprieve from the edge of his simmering rage.
Finally, Calder rolls his shoulders back. “I never wanted to return.”
Sigvid exhales a cloud of smoke that floats out over the water, but he does not respond.
“Father did everything to get us out of Skalor and away from Queen Lavinia. When you asked me to embark on this mission, I did so without question.” He drags a hand along the back of his head.
“I had not been here a week before she found me. As much as my father loathed her, she helped me unlock my powers at a significant cost, even if I refused to return as Prince of Skalor.”
“What cost?” He senses there is more that he is not confiding.
Calder peers at his hands. “A little bit of me slips away each day. My abilities strengthen the more I give in to them,” he shakes his head. “The Queen,” he glances over his shoulder, “I cannot escape her. Fucking and drinking help stave off my impending demise.”
“Come home with us to Treland.”
He would do fucking anything for this kid who has been the perfect mentee for the last decade.
“I figuratively sold my soul to the country when I slit the previous Jarl’s throat. I’ll wear that damn circlet until I die or some bastard ends me.” He remains oddly stoic as he speaks. “I have a son. What kind of father would I be if I never returned for him?”
It’s hard to imagine Calder’s son was close in age to their youngest daughter, Aura.
Fuck, I never should have sent him here. I knew his father had escaped with him, and all I did was toss him back into the Abyss.
I also never thought he would stay.
Sigvid sits next to him on the wharf. “What about your wife?”
Calder waves his hand dismissively. “She is attached to my mother, ever plotting my demise. She was a handmaiden, trained to seduce and manipulate nobles. I recently caught her in bed with three men. I’m sure Lavinia used her against me as well.”
Sigvid can see the water below the dock freeze into a solid ice sheet.
“She frequently takes my son with her to Nightwall Keep. They are with the Queen now.”
Sigvid clutches his pipe tightly, trying to piece together the mystery of Skalor. Sadly, Calder’s words are more cryptic than anything.
And who was Grandpa ‘M’?
Footsteps clack along the pier, and Calder twitches as a tall, curvy woman strides forward with an arrogant smirk on her crimson lips. Her dark brown hair, streaked with white, flows long over her shoulders. An icy blue gaze drinks them in with haughty indifference.
“Well, well, Calder, were you planning to introduce me to our neighboring king? The infamous Beast of the Treland Arena.” She licks her lips, popping her hip to the side in an act he assumes she intends as seduction.
He stands, catching movement from his Drengr. They do not need to run interference with this bitch. She deserves to drown in the Bay of Souls.
Sigvid stands before Calder can. “King Sigvid Thordsson.” He replies through his teeth clenched around his pipe and his hands resting beside his dual axes.
Amusement dances behind her eyes. She sweeps her hair over her shoulder and steps closer until she is just an arm’s length away from him.
“As Queen of Skalor, I am a tad shocked,” she steps around him to gaze out at the bay, “and even a little hurt that the great Sigvid would travel to my little old country and not even do me, the Queen, the courtesy to let me know of his presence.” She spins back around with a slight tilt of her neck as her gaze roves over Sigvid.
“I have no business with you.”
“Everyone has business with me, honey.” Her laugh disturbs him.
He blows a cloud of smoke in her face. “I am here visiting my old friend Jarl Calder. I do not need your fucking permission to do that.”
“Mother!” Calder scrambles to his feet, towering over both of them. “I suppose you wish to continue yesterday’s conversation.” Even as he speaks, Sigvid twitches as the air grows frigid.
Before she follows her son back to the longhouse, she pats Sigvid’s arm with a wink. “We will converse later, King Thordsson.”
Sigvid shivers as he watches them stride away. The last time he felt unnerved in the presence of another person was with his brother, Thrain, who condemned him to the Treland Arena, blackmailed Avina with the lives of those they love, and forced the war that led to the unification of Treland.
The King roughly brushes off the area she touched and stomps back to their lodgings, where he finds his little Queen engaged in a heated chess game with Bjorn. He embraces Avina, holding her close to inhale her soft, floral scent, which grounds him and quiets the burning anger.
Gods, I could never lose her.
Fuck, and he knows murdering another ruler in cold blood would not bode well for the safety of his little Queen or their family. And, if he’s being honest, he is fucking tired of wars and would much rather return to Blackwood without needing to summon his Drengr Army.
After his wife and son slumber peacefully in their beds, he seeks refuge on the pier with his pipe, waiting for the raucous in the longhouse to quiet down so he can find a way to free Calder from this Abyss.
As he begins to consider slipping back inside and taking Avina’s tight pussy while she sleeps, he, once again, senses more than hears clacking along the decking.