Chapter 8
Eight
Ishifted on the chair as yet another karl bled his life force into the grass before me.
Not because the death made me uncomfortable, but this was the fifth night we’d been forced to sit through karls beating each other up.
While the other heirs had fought for a night or two, the last few they’d joined me in sitting back and watching.
I accepted a cup of wine from the servant girl I’d run into on the first day to have something to do—and because I hoped it might quell my rumbling stomach.
To Viljan’s dismay, I’d continued to stay in the woods overnight, and I avoided the camp, and the karls, as much as I could, which meant food had been scarce. If I managed to get one meal a day, I was lucky.
I’d also refused Viljan’s demand to join me at night. I told him I wanted the space, but really I’d overheard Geord instruct his men to keep track of me and my guard, and it was easier to sneak away without a man trailing me.
When I wasn’t able to quell a yawn, a murderous gaze pressed against my skin.
The warrior whose ship I’d accidentally borrowed glared at me from his place behind the king’s left shoulder.
I was tempted to raise my brows in silent defiance, but before I acted on the impulse, I took a deep sip of wine instead.
I’d managed to stay out of trouble entirely by keeping to myself, and I would continue to do so for as long as I could.
The strange Viking looked as tired as I felt, with deep purple circles beneath his eyes that did nothing to make his appearance less terrifying.
On the contrary, they emphasized the little patience I imagined he had—especially as he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip like a hound on a too-short chain.
As the servants cleaned up the blood before us, the previous nights’ cheering was nowhere to be heard.
There were fewer karls now. Some had met the gods already, and those who remained were beaten and exhausted.
Unlike us heirs, who were allowed to roam as we pleased while we waited for the trials to formally begin, the karls trained hard from dawn to dusk, as many of them hadn’t received the same drilling in fighting and battle that we had ever since we could walk on two legs.
I didn’t doubt that contributed to the fates of the five men and women who’d died tonight. The brawls were becoming sloppy, and the same five or six men won each time.
“Bored?” a deep voice hissed into my ear.
I sat up straight as the warrior’s hot breath hit my skin.
“Yes,” I forced out. “These karls are tired.” I almost added, Not as tired as you look, though, but I managed to bite it down when Ivren shot me a sideways look.
“Maybe we should give them a break.”
I didn’t like his tone at all, but when I twisted in the chair, he was gone.
I tracked him as he walked over to the king and whispered something in his ear. A hammering began behind my ribs, my racing pulse making me lightheaded when the king smirked and raised a hand to quiet the musicians in the corner behind him.
Ivren’s hand flew to my knee as my leg started bouncing up and down when the king rose. “Karls, you’ve done well the past nights.” King Gustief turned to our row. “Let’s do something different, shall we?”
“It’ll be fine,” my brother’s friend whispered when my other leg started jerking instead.
I had a feeling it would not be. One that was confirmed when the king continued.
“A challenge between heirs. First to draw blood with their sword gets a shipment of wine and ale sent back to their island.”
The drained energy returned, and excited shouts tore through the tent, feet stomping against the hard-packed grass. The karls who’d been sitting on the ground rose, and the crowd shuffled forward until it felt like I couldn’t breathe.
I placed my hands beneath my thighs as the weight of my sword pressed against my back. Not only did I not have my rune, but I had barely eaten enough to keep my strides steady. There was no way I would be able to hide the weakness of my body when I held my blade.
Viljan’s breath blew through my hair, making me tremble.
He was too close. My guard’s hand hovered by my arm, fingers nearly skimming it, as if he would grab me and drag me out of there any second now.
I rose on legs that trembled like a frayed bowstring.
The king laughed as deadly tension cut through the crowd. “Look at that. Our Sweengard heir is finally ready to show off her divine strength.”
I couldn’t muster a smile. This was it. I’d managed to survive a week before I was found out. My mother would probably be surprised I’d lasted this long.
A raging fire lit behind my eyes, pressing to be released. I’d done everything I could. I’d taken every word thrown at me. Every shove. Every vicious glare. I’d even slept in the forest like a spineless recreant.
I watched the king clap his hands—saw the crowd take soot from the five fires and draw dark lines across their faces—but I heard nothing. My head was filled with cotton as the karls, faces shiny from the fat they’d gobbled down, opened their mouths and hurled their taunts.
When my monarch stepped forward, I saw only my executioner, his excitement for a flame I no longer carried squeezing my veins until my blood flowed so slowly my heart might as well stop. Viljan moved when I did, like my cursed shadow that would go down too soon.
This time, I turned his way. There wasn’t anything else I could do.
You didn’t say no to the king—that was only a different death sentence.
When Viljan bowed his head, I gave him a fracture of a smile.
He wouldn’t run. When they found out, he would seal his back against mine, and we’d take down as many as we could.
A Sweengard always fought to the end. All Vikings did. It was the only way we’d be allowed into Valhalla, where heroes shared long tables full of the finest food and wine and ale, and where Odin offered a harbor for weary bones.
My smile slipped when I thought of my actions the past few days. Hiding from my enemies and lying and skulking in the shadows wasn’t exactly worthy of sagas and songs. But I didn’t have a choice. Surely the gods would see that.
I unsheathed my sword.
Viljan held my gaze as he clutched the handles of his two axes.
“Until my body is but blackened ash,” he mouthed.
“See you in Valhalla,” I whispered.
Viljan gave me a grim look, his fingers tapping the wooden shafts.
“No weapons.” The rude warrior came to Gustief’s side, his tongue peeking through as he smirked my way. A shadow of surprise crossed the king’s face, but it vanished a second later, as if it had never been there at all.
“No weapons?” the king echoed.
“Too easy.” The warrior showed his teeth when Ottoh made a sound of protest. “Let them fight with hands. Get a little dirty before we train them.”
There was that strange shift in his words again. Almost as if they were difficult for him to get out.
“I like it.” King Gustief clapped a heavy hand on the warrior’s shoulder before he stepped back, gesturing for the man to go on.
“Who will fight her?” the warrior called.
The crowd’s jeers hit the air like whips.
Viljan inched closer when no one stepped forward.
“Fuck no,” Ottoh mumbled. “It’s not fair. She’s stronger than all of us.”
“She’s been waiting for this,” Adrion added. “So she can humiliate us.”
I gripped the sword so hard my hand ached as someone came up behind my left shoulder, his hand pressing once in the middle of my back before he settled by my side.
“I’ll fight her.” Ivren’s elbow nudged mine. “I’ve been shamed enough times by your brother. I’m sure I’ll survive being bested by you too.”
“Great,” the king shouted. “The Solsken heir and the Sweengard will fight until first blood.”
“Ivren!”
“Ivren!”
“Ivren!”
The crowd started chanting his name as I turned my head over my shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I hissed under my breath.
He knew. He knew exactly what did not flow through my veins—what had faded on my heart and died with my father. I wouldn’t win if I fought him. I’d seen him with the others. I might get one punch in, but as soon as he landed one, I’d be on the grass.
“Trust me,” Ivren whispered.
“No,” Viljan snarled quietly as he came to my other side. “Don’t fucking trust him.”
I stared between the two men, my pulse thudding through my limbs.
“What are you waiting for?” the king called. “Get started!”
I couldn’t think. The crowd started calling for blood, a drum starting somewhere else, the pounding vibrating through my feet and up my body. Fear and confusion and desperation coiled into my gut until it felt like my stomach turned into one big knot.
“Elvara, trust me,” Ivren urged.
“I—”
Ivren might have been Lika’s friend, and so far he hadn’t revealed my secret.
But what was his plan now? I couldn’t win against him. Not like this.
A scoff wrapped around us before both Ivren and I were shoved forward, into the ring.
“The world does not move at your command, heirs. Get fighting.” The warrior arrogantly arched his brows before nodding to someone behind me.
The next second, another man took my sword and shield, leaving me facing my brother’s best friend.
A growl rumbled in Viljan’s chest. He was paler than I’d ever seen him, but that did nothing to make him seem less terrifying. On the contrary, that fury coursing through his veins made him seem like a vengeful ghost.
“Take her guard.”
At the warrior’s demand, two men came to drag Viljan away, but it took two more to actually do it. He snapped his teeth at the men who held on to his arms, but he still managed to mouth, “Don’t trust him!”
I should have ordered him to stay back, but I couldn’t. Not when I’d doom us both, and everyone we’d ever known, if this turned out the way I expected.
Viljan was right. I couldn’t trust anyone.
“Come on!” the king called as he raised a goblet to more cheers from the crowd. “We want blood!”
“Blood!”
“Blood!”
“Blood!”