Chapter 13 Aura #2
Eivor pulls away and grabs her brother’s hand, tugging him inside the longhouse.
After composing herself, she enters a different door into the crackling of the hearth, upbeat music, and shouts from the drunken revelers.
Heads turn at her entrance. Sharp whispers, some filled with laughter and others tinged with pity, make her stomach churn.
When will they fuck off about the Trial?
At the first long table sits a group of newly initiated Drengr, listening intently as her father regales them with his favorite anecdote from his imprisonment in the Treland Arena. It is a story so frequently shared in Toftlund that she hears it from townsfolk every time she visits the city.
“Then I slid my axe across his chest, leaving a deep red, bleeding line.” Sigvid makes a slicing motion on the closest Drengr’s chest while several warriors mouth the words. “I stood over Face’s fucking head, I smiled and said-”
Aura leaps onto the opposite end of the table, brandishing her dagger, “You deserve this. And the crowd wildly cheered as he tossed the man's still-bleeding leg into the stands!” She shouts at the table, and the Drengr collectively leap at her sudden appearance—those not in her father’s line of sight chuckle.
Sigvid’s arms drop to his side, and his mouth gapes. “Aura! That is the best part of the story.” He flops into his chair with a frown. His gaze tracks her as she walks away, cackling. He jumps back to his feet. “Well, let me tell you about when I fought the Battlemaster!”
Aura weaves in and out of the crowd of revelers, encountering mostly familiar faces who smile back at her. Usually, she would sit with the Drengr, but since the Norn deemed her unworthy of a place among them, not to mention the humiliation of the blacklist, she opts to sit on her throne.
The remainder of the raised dais sits empty. Her mother is conversing deeply with the Queen of Pradacia, and her siblings must be elsewhere.
As soon as she settles into the chair crafted by her father, adorned with runes and designs of nautilus shells, her gaze lands on the one person whose company she has been avoiding.
Calder sits in a corner chatting with her Uncle Grim, whose arms mimic the motions of swinging an axe.
Despite the warm atmosphere filled with friends and family, Aura’s mind disappears back into the city garden, where he broke her heart.
The memory of his voice pierces her stomach, and she swallows hard to suppress the pain.
At the same time, the way the Iss Drengr grips the ale horn ignites her yearning for him as his muscular, veiny arms flex.
It was all a lie, just like Isabel.
After what must have been several war stories, Uncle Grim leaves Calder to his ale. His icy gaze scrutinizes the Princess as he lights his pipe. Her core tightens at the intensity of his cold indifference.
She hears movement behind her, but before she can react, someone grabs her arms. She jumps and swats the hands away.
“You looked too comfortable,” Thora cackles as she plops down on Sigvid’s throne.
She cannot be bothered to walk the extra few steps to sit in her own seat.
Bjorn emerges on her other side with two drinking horns.
He perches on the arm of her throne instead of sitting in his own beside her.
Aura does not miss how his attention flicks toward the Iss Drengr and back to her with a knowing glance.
“What were you looking at with such intensity?” Thora reclines on their father’s throne. “I’ve lived in Toftlund my whole life, and I recommend about three people to take to bed.”
“Gods, Thora!” She huffs, sinking into her seat.
“She has a point, Aura.” Bjorn hands her the spare horn.
“You should listen to us.” Thora belches so loudly that those nearby raise their drinks to her. “We are older and wiser. You can always move to another kingdom. I am sure Steinlund or Pradacia would have someone that Uncle Sig would allow between your legs.”
Bjorn and Aura both wince at the vulgarity of her words.
“Now that you mention it,” he tosses back a gulp of his mead.
“We finally met with the Steinlund group.
Turns out the capital city of Ravengarde is in the midst of a rebellion.
The Rebel Commander intercepted Pops' invitation to the Conclave and requests assistance in uncovering the Draemonium at the heart of their government. Pops asked me to go on a covert mission to their court. I will miss the perfection that is Salt Mead.”
“What?!” Both Thora and Aura shout at once.
“You cannot leave!” Aura isn’t sure who she is more upset with: her father, Bjorn, or these rebels. And why was she not asked when her siblings both have duties within the Drengr?
“How is this fair?” Thora appears ready to squeeze the life out of someone. “I should be the one traveling on missions to other countries!”
“Thora, you are in charge of the deadliest army on the Endless Shore,” he states thoughtfully. “I’m sure Pops wouldn't allow you to leave.”
“That’s bullshit,” Aura interjects. “Thora is about as subtle as a rampaging male elk during mating season.”
“Oh, and would you be a better option?” Thora crosses her arms. “You would fuck your way through like a rampaging male elk during mating season.”
Aura’s face burns. Yes, she has experienced terrible endings to relationships, but she does not throw herself around like a common harlot!
Bjorn adjusts his vest. “When it comes down to me or the lustful male elks, I am the superior option. Father intends this job to be a discreet mission.”
Aura fists her hands in her lap. “Glad to know he thinks so little of our abilities.”
Thora stomps off the dais in a rare gesture, leaving Bjorn and Aura without her final word.
“Now you have done it,” Aura sighs.
“You know that was not my intention.” He lights his pipe while scanning the crowd. “I hate what this Isabel situation has done to both of you. You both deserve better from Pop and your self-esteems.”
“I am not sure I will ever crawl out from under it. Thora still beats herself up over the Death Match. It will take more than time to rectify this,” she whispers.
He stands and gently pats her shoulder. “Join me in Steinlund.”
“You cannot be serious?” She radiates joy and nearly jumps from her throne.
“Details are still developing. As long as you follow my guidance and don’t act like a rampaging male elk during mating season, I don’t foresee any issues.”
“Thank you, B!” She jumps up and down.
He kisses her forehead. “Keep your chin up, sis.”
She forces herself to sit back on her throne and calm her excitement when Jarl Guy appears, prompting her brother to slip away.
“Good Evening, Your Highness.” He wears the Jarl of Skalor circlet, adorned with jagged spikes that encircle his head, and dresses in much finer clothes than even Bjorn. “Pardon my interruption. I have seen you around and have desired an audience with Your Highness.”
Grandpapi, please give me strength.
“I would much like to enjoy time with myself tonight.” She takes pride in setting boundaries, regardless of his disgustingly insincere approach.
“My apologies, Princess. I only seek a conversation, perhaps a quick walk around Toftlund.”
“I hardly know you.” She senses the familiar tingle creeping along her spine, warning her against the man she met once before
“Jarl Guy of Skalor. I believe the last time you played a jest on me.” His smile is stunning. “You wouldn’t deny a world-weary Jarl the pleasure of your presence.”
“Are you flattering me, Jarl Guy?”
“You caught me.” He holds his hands up. “I couldn’t help myself.” He kisses her hand, leaving her feeling hollow.
Against her better judgment, her gaze drifts from Guy to the corner of the room where Calder sits. He clutches his drinking horn and talks with a drunken young woman beside him—the rabid, envious monster roars in her chest.
I have no right to feel this way!
Guy follows her gaze. “Ah, Jarl Calder Avardsson. Do you know each other well?”
She drains her mead horn. “I find the rumors surrounding the Iss Drengr to be unsettling.”
“Would you care for another drink? My beautiful Princess.”
Laying it on thick?
“Steinlund whiskey.” She gives a broad smile, hoping it doesn’t seem forced.
“I shall fetch it at once.” He bows before walking up to the bar in the corner.
Aura adjusts the skirt of her gown. A furtive glance across the room reveals a drunken woman laughing and stumbling into his lap. She feels her cheeks burning despite looking away quickly.
‘I could never be with someone like you. I don’t want you, Aura.’ His words sear into her chest, her eyes burning with unshed tears.
If she stays on the main streets, she will be in view of one of her father’s Drengr. A stroll with Jarl Smiles won’t be terrible.
Guy catches up to her with two drinks in hand as she steps down from the raised dais and strides toward one of the open back doors leading to the sea.
“For you.” He hands her the whiskey glass. “Beautiful night for a walk.”
She rolls her shoulders back, longing to return home. Thankfully, the summer evening is clear, and the gentle waves of the South Sea comfort the Princess.
They traipse along the city wall, overlooking the quiet waves, as they drink and talk. Of all the people she could have chosen to converse with, he was not terrible. Not great.
When they reach the docks, she notices they are eerily empty. Not even the Toftlund guards patrol the wharf, which is odd considering that the Farewell Feast encompasses the city. Her hackles rise, and her gut warns her to turn back.
“Thank you for your kindness, Jarl Guy.” She glances over her shoulder, sensing she is being watched and realizing she only has a single dagger sheathed on her person. “If you don’t mind, I wish to return to the longhouse.”
A saccharine smile graces his expression. He glances over his shoulder. “I can’t let you leave so soon, Princess.” His finger glides across her cheek and down to her shoulder. “Stay with me.”
Aura smacks his hand away, stepping away from his unsettling grin. Without another thought, she tears off back to the longhouse.
Two guards bearing that familiar and terrifying sigil of the crescent moon block her path, gripping her upper arms.
Oh, gods! It was Guy’s men who tried to kidnap me in the garden!
Which means that Calder knew them. Why did he not tell her or her father?
If she had told her parents about what nearly happened, would they have looked down on her? Could she have lessened what was about to occur?
The guards drag her back to the Jarl as she fights tooth and nail.
“A sword to my heart!” Guy gasps in mock surprise. “That you would try to leave me like this.” He points to the railing surrounding the pier. “Bend her over.”
The goons force a screaming Aura over the wood and hold her down. Her attempts to scratch, kick, and bite fail.
“Relax, we will disembark soon.”
Her heart pounds, and she screams as loudly as her lungs can carry her voice. “Let me go!”
Guy snaps his fingers, and a guard gags her with a scrap of cloth.
“You need to remain quiet for this. I can’t have the King finding you.” He holds her hips from behind. Both hands glide down her legs, lifting the hem of her dress.
Hot tears flood her face. No one was coming to save her this time. She would have had a savior if Calder had not forsaken her in the gardens.
Her dress is tugged to her knees when a frozen great axe slams into the chest of the guard on her right.
One of the guards restraining her unsheathes his sword, pulling her closer to his chest. The dead man lies bloody and frozen.
Her stomach flutters as she finds the Iss Drengr covered in the blood and carnage of Guy’s guards.
His monstrous right hand clutches the head of a dying soldier.
Ice crystals creep over the guard’s forehead.
An ear-piercing scream echoes off the pier as the frost engulfs the soldier’s head and limbs.
“I seem to have found the source of my missing guards from a week ago.” Guy pulls Aura to his side as he draws a sword and grips her arm. She removes the gag and kicks him in the shin. She darts away from his grasp, only to be restrained again.
“Apologies, Princess,” he sneers, “I have been offered my country’s weight in gold if I deliver you safely to my Queen.”
“Fuck off!”
A bloody head thunks off of Guy’s back as every guard lies frozen, mangled, or both.
“I should have put you down winters ago.” Calder’s growl reverberates across the deck. The bulging muscles in his arms ripple as he tears his axe out of the headless man as if lifting a stick.
“You could never get that close to me.” Guy wags his finger with a laugh.
Aura’s breath fogs around her face, and she shivers. Ice coats the ground and stills the water, lapping at the dock.
“Aura, to the Longhouse!” Calder passively commands as he descends on the other Jarl.
Instead, she clutches a discarded sword and joins him.
“There is just something I must know, Jarl Calder?” Guy steps backward onto the icy dock. “Why betray your mother? Or Skalor?”
“Do you really believe in the bullshit she spouts?”
Guy looks taken aback. “She is our Queen. Why would she lie to us?”
“She manipulates weak men into doing her bidding.”
“Surely your issue is only with Queen Lavinia and not little ole me?” Guy smiles widely in a last-ditch attempt to save his skin.
Guy’s scream curdles Aura’s blood as frost envelopes his legs up to his waist. Calder does not shift at the wails of agony of the enemy. If anything, he looks stoically at peace.
“You forfeited your life when you set your sight on the Princess.”
Guy wildly swings his sword through his blubbering tears. Calder punches him in the chest so hard that she thought his hand would sink through his ribcage.
He gasps for air, but Calder is nothing if not relentless. He strikes him again and again until blood bursts from his mouth, and only then does he grip his face.
“Wait!” Aura touches his arm. “I want to end his life.”
He releases his hold and gestures to the bloody and beaten man frozen on the dock.
“Be my guest, Princess.” His hand glides along her lower back, drawing her closer.
She considers Guy’s position and is about to strike when he makes a final attempt to save himself.
“P-please…p-please, P-princess Aura. I b-beg y-you!” Guy’s pleadings are pathetic.
Her father taught her better than that.
She grabs his collar and pulls him down to her level. She spits in his face and rams the sword through his skull.