Chapter 9
Nine
Ibarely registered Adrion fighting Ottoh, nor the wet thud as a blow split Adrion’s brow, sending a rush of blood down his face.
And I watched as if from outside my body when Rakkel faced Ivren, and how despite his eyes still being glassy and unfocused from my strike, he drew first blood in less than a minute.
Viljan stood beside me when the king threw out his hands, silencing the hungry crowd that was crying for more blood. I felt his eyes on my face, but I stood stiff, staring straight ahead as he whispered, “You’ll be all right.”
I barely moved as I responded, “I know.”
“We knew this would be hard,” Viljan continued as some of the king’s men carried out trays with goblets and cups of wine and ale, offering them to the feral karls crowding around us.
“I did what I had to do,” I whispered through my teeth. “It might not be what will make the gods proud, but it is what might save us. Now please give me some space.”
“Elvara—”
“I said, give me some space. You’re my guard still, and you follow my orders,” I snarled.
His brows flew upward, but Viljan didn’t say anything else as he backed up, taking up a spot beside the other heirs’ guards to the left of the dais. I kept my eyes on my bloodied boots as the king began speaking once more.
“Now that we’ve had a taste of what this summer will bring…” The king raised his cup, and the Vikings standing in a half circle behind me roared. “Welcome to the Hird, and our first trials!”
The collective shouts made the ground beneath my feet vibrate.
Rakkel shuffled closer to me when the people surrounding us began a chant, a low hum in the back of their throats—a wordless song of pillaging and war and glory.
Ivren took her other side, and Ottoh and Adrion took up spots behind us when the crowd hemmed us in, a wall of breathing flesh, forcing us closer to the dais.
“A new generation of Viking leaders. Five heirs to lead us into the next era.” The king drew his hand across his neck, and the tent fell silent.
“Fresh blood is the marrow of our people. We cannot evolve without the younger generation’s fire, and we cannot survive if we cling to a weak legacy.
If a ruling family is found wanting, they aren’t leaders anymore; they are obstacles. And obstacles are meant to be broken.”
“Apart from you, of course,” Adrion whispered, the words hard.
Fear made my neck stiff.
Adrion’s face was cold as he licked blood from his brow off his lips.
Was he drunk? If not, what the fuck was he thinking?
We all grumbled about the king from time to time, especially lately, with all the retaliation from the realms he forced us to invade, but it was done between the safe walls of our home. The thought alone could get Adrion killed.
Shuffling closer to King Gustief, I put myself out of earshot. I wouldn’t seek out my fate in Hel early because of a drunk boy’s need to express himself.
King Gustief drummed his nails against his goblet. “The summer trials will take place over the next two moons. As always, the trials are divided into blood, wood, and steel.”
Three loud cheers followed from the crowd.
The king raised his fist. “First each heir will select their iron-bound—their second, third, and fourth. Their closest men and women, and the ones who will guard their backs throughout the trials and at the Hird, and the rest of their lives.” When the king turned to us, we straightened under his sharp eyes.
“I advise you to choose carefully. Blood can be poisonous, and old ties can be chains. The three men or women you are to select will be bound to you until you enter the gates of Valhalla.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Viljan shift. While only part of what the king had said was true for me, I gave a single nod.
Viljan would be my second—the one to take over as heir.
But I’d also have to find a suitable third and fourth. Ones who wouldn’t find a way to turn us in if they learned of the rune that had bled dry on our chests.
I accidentally caught Ottoh’s eyes when I turned my head over my shoulder, and the heir smirked before he asked, “What happens if one of our iron-bound dies at the Hird?”
The king’s grin was slow. “If they fall at the Hird, you fall with them. A leader is only as much as his people, and a broken shield wall protects no one. But if one of the heirs dies”—Gustief took his time to stare down each one of us—“your second will become the new heir for your fylki, and he or she will be able to select a new iron-bound as his fourth.” He lifted his gaze to the rest of the tent.
“While the majority of you will not be chosen as these heirs’ iron-bound, you will also go through the Hird.
You have been selected out of the five fylkis because of your exceptional skills and strengths.
All of you will become warriors. All have a place in our nation.
At the end of the summer you will be placed into one of the five sections at the academy, under one of the five heirs.
When you graduate you will follow that heir home, and for many of you that means leaving your old people for a new one. ”
I swallowed when heavy stares burned into my back.
Rakkel’s stance wavered for a second as well, and even Ivren’s grin dimmed.
The people in my village—in my father’s chiefdom—were family. The ones surrounding me now? They should not be enemies, but what else could they be when the king painted such a pretty target on our backs? When they had a way to climb to the top of the hierarchy by spilling only one person’s blood?
The king continued as if the bloodthirst in the tent hadn’t amplified tenfold.
“Once the iron-bounds have been established and the bonds formed, there will be two trials. One for wood and one for steel—earning your ships and your blades.” A grim satisfaction settled over his features. “That reminds me. Warriors?”
At the wave of the king’s hand, his men stalked up to us. As one of them ripped Rakkel’s blade out of her scabbard, my fingers closed around the hilt of my own. It had been forged by the blacksmiths in my village, blessed by the sword my father had earned during his time at the Hird.
I backed up, my shoulder slamming into Adrion’s when the blond warrior chuckled darkly.
My sword had once breathed against my palm, a rhythmic heat that promised protection—one granted by my father’s rune carved into its hilt.
But as I touched it now, the steel was cold—deadweight in my hand.
The quiet beat that used to rumble through it at my touch remained silent, and the void it left in my chest was sharper than any blade.
The warrior’s lip curled in a sneer that made my skin heat.
As if he knew my thoughts. As if he knew me.
Arms wrapped around my chest, and I recoiled when one of his men—the one with the scar—stopped my retreat. “He’s not going to like it if you fight,” he said in his rough voice. “Don’t make it harder for yourself.”
My fingers reached for the necklace of bruises around my throat.
“Exactly,” the warrior warned as he took my sword and shield. “That was him playing nice.”
“Nice?” I hissed.
If that was nice, I was a damned Valkyrie, my wings hidden beneath my shoulder blades and my teeth so sharp I could bite off these men’s hands when they manhandled me.
“Would you like me to be bad instead?” The warrior with the cropped hair spun from where he’d stripped Ivren of his blade, emphasizing bad with the strange lilt in his voice. “Because I can.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I mumbled.
“What did you say?”
The two warriors spoke at once, and I swallowed every ounce of anger when the king also turned our way, some of the conversations around us dying.
“Nothing,” I snapped, quickly adding “I’d prefer you to remain nice, please,” when the blond warrior took a threatening step toward us, even though it tasted like poison in my mouth.
As the scarred man walked away with my weapons, I wished I really was a Valkyrie.
Maybe I’d use my teeth to relieve that man of something else he cherished.
As the heirs stood unarmed before the king, all fidgeting and looking as uncomfortable as I felt without the weight of our blades and shields, Gustief accepted a goblet from the servant girl with the bright eyes.
After forcing the queen to his side to sip from the cup first, the king raised it toward the five of us.
“The disarmament of the heirs marks the beginning of the summer trials. Apart from the rune on your chest that will follow you into the Great Halls of the gods, you now begin a new destiny outside of your parents’ shadow.
Should the gods find you worthy, you will be standing here at the end of summer as the new chiefs of your fylkis, together with your iron-bound leaders of Skagerik.
” He turned his toast to the karls standing silently behind us.
“You have already been here for weeks, but tomorrow the real summer trials begin. May the strong survive and their iron-bound thrive.”
The wine in his goblet sloshed over the sides as the five pyres heaved their heat toward the sky, the smoke twirling around the tent until it reached us.
The tendrils teased our unprotected backs, as if the gods wanted to warn us that they were always watching—that in the end the only thing that mattered was the final divine reckoning.
I clasped my hands behind my back, twisting my fingers until they hurt when the king took a long sip and then called, “To new Vikings. To brave souls and fearless quests and successful journeys.”
Everyone responded as we were expected to—although I couldn’t hide the tremor in my voice. “To conquest and the crown.”
A branch snapped, and I pressed my spine firmly against the trunk, hoping the greenery was enough to keep me hidden from whoever was walking in the woods at this time.
The moon trickled through the leaves, leaving its silver imprint in the night, and in the distance were flickers of fires, muted sounds of shouts and laughs echoing over the lake, brought all the way by the waterfall.