Chapter 10
Ten
Ihadn’t moved for hours, the weight of the hostile gazes pinning me in place.
Neither had Ivren. He’d remained by my side the entire time, apart from when he went to refill my cup—which was often, since I kept emptying it every time I overheard the not-so-subtle threats being thrown my way.
As soon as Darcke had left, the whispers that followed me all day picked up again.
I guessed being threatened by the king’s commander made the rest of the Hird abandon all restraint.
“They’re fucking idiots,” Ivren whispered angrily when yet another group of karls laughed too loudly as they passed us on their way to the barrels in the bow. “You’re still an heir. You still have to choose your iron-bound. They’re sabotaging their own standing.”
“Do I have to pick a third and fourth?” I hid my face behind my goblet as I took another gulp. “Can’t I stop at a second?”
Ivren looked truly worried. “Of course you can’t. You have to—”
“I was joking,” I said. “It’ll be easy. I’ll just pick the ones with the least sharpened blades.”
“They’re not allowed to kill you if you tap them,” Ivren said. “At least they’re not supposed to. It’s an honor to be selected.”
An honor indeed. They’d be celebrated like kings if they ended me.
Ivren read too much in my face because he took the cup from me. “Not everyone hates you.”
My brows arched.
“They don’t. Some just… don’t know you yet.
” He clutched my elbow and made me spin toward the glen.
“And you don’t know them. But you need to.
Somehow you need to find people you can trust.” He nodded toward the groups of karls spread out, some sitting on fallen trunks and some standing or sitting around the fires that had been started as the midnight chill found its way over the lake.
“As you are aware, everyone over eighteen is assessed by the chieftains, and if they’re found to have a unique skill—or a potential for one—they’re sent here.
Most have been here a few weeks already so that the king’s men could evaluate them as well. ”
I held on to the railing, savoring the ship’s steadiness as I nodded.
My father didn’t force anyone to go who didn’t want to, but we’d had a dozen or so men and women eager to trade their lives for a chance at a new fylki and the supposed adventure of the Hird.
They were the restless ones, the ones whose blood demanded a different soil—and the academy was that opportunity.
Their families might weep at the docks for a season, but everyone knew the change was needed to allow for fresh blood.
I hadn’t seen any of our people yet, though.
A crowd of men all the size of Viljan stood by the lake, arguing over who could swim across it fastest without being taken by the current that lured deep beneath.
I shook my head while Ivren laughed quietly, some of his worry for me draining from his face.
“Those are your warriors. They were selected because of their strength, and some for their weaponry skill. They are obviously the most popular for our iron-bound. Lika liked the ones from the south. I would stay away from the twins—Oscri and Kilia. They’re the silver-haired ones who killed so many over the past nights. ”
“Sweengard.”
I went still at the mention of my name, and one of the twins’ amber gaze found mine. There was something calculating in his eyes, and the smile he gave me as he raised a goblet was wolfish. But I didn’t flinch even as he dragged his tongue over his teeth.
I will not be a coward.
I only raised my hand back, holding his eyes until the twin looked away.
“Those over there are your spies,” Ivren continued as the thudding beat wrapped around us, the drums making the wooden deck tremble. “You cannot trust them unless they’re bonded to you.” Ivren’s voice lowered into a whisper. “Some already work for the king, and I’ve heard he likes to test us.”
He gestured toward a band of men and women standing around a barrel of wine, seemingly entirely normal as they clinked their cups together so hard the liquid sloshed over the sides.
Only one girl stood out to me. Her hair was pale, almost purplish in color, and her dark eyes tracked my hand as I wound it around my stomach.
I frowned at her, but it only made her stare harder, a strange expression pulling at her features.
Ivren moved on, slicing his eyes to a larger group of people spread out on the right side of the large tree that cut through the glen.
“Those over there are your negotiators. I wouldn’t choose one of them for my iron-bound, as the sea and faraway lands call so strongly to them.
Many of them already bear the king’s mark of a trader, anyway. ”
I fisted the fabric of my jacket when a pang of jealousy hit me.
Several of the men and women Ivren had pointed out bore a tattoo of a weaving branch across their foreheads—the one that allowed our conquered nations to know we’d come to exchange goods, not wage war.
Almost all negotiators were born to trader parents who’d trained them since birth. They were always traveling, always at sea or in foreign lands.
I’d envied the ones in our fylki growing up.
Any time my father took me out, it was to conquer or pillage—as was expected from a chieftain’s daughter—so the people I met either became slaves under our king or were slain.
It didn’t leave much room for conversations or learning more about their customs and traditions.
Drums beat louder through the night, and my heart began hammering in sync with the feet that stomped the deck. The song that built across the wood was one of warning, and I wasn’t the only heir that pushed my shoulders back at it.
Ottoh stood on the other side of the ship, and although the karls that surrounded him stared at him with awe, his hands flexed by his sides, his weight shifting back and forth.
Adrion had gone into the glen, and he moved to put the oak against his back, his eyes darting from side to side while the karl he’d been speaking to backed up, his axe loosely hanging from his grip, but his posture so tense it was clear he was on the lookout.
I jerked when the warriors by the lake let out a howl toward the sky before forming a half circle, their hands beating their knees as one of the twins stalked into the middle.
“Challenge!” he roared as a tall but skinny boy was shoved in front of him.
“Gods,” Ivren said. “Are they not tired of fighting yet?”
I turned away when metal clinked and the group tightened around them, but the wind brought the boy’s screams anyway. A low hum made the ship vibrate as it responded to the death, and the air flickered with anticipation as ale and wine fueled the karls around us.
Ivren’s smile fell when my body responded, every muscle twitching with awareness as I tried to gauge who to look out for. Moving closer, he nudged me until my limbs loosened a little.
“You’ll be all right,” he whispered. “I know you might not believe it, but I won’t let anything happen to you here.”
I didn’t respond, and his lips twitched. “Lika would be proud.”
My jaw ached from how fiercely I clenched it, and thankfully Ivren caught it.
“Those are your sailors.” Ivren nodded to the people dancing around a smoldering fire in the stern, their painted faces set alight by the flames and their shadows long on the wood they used to create a thudding beat.
“You’re right in not trusting anyone yet,” he said when I remained quiet. “But you will need to get to know some people. And quickly. I realize you’re choosing Viljan for your second, but you have to choose two more iron-bound.”
“I know.” I was able to keep the fear out of my voice as four karls broke free from dancing and stalked our way, but my hands grew damp at their purposeful strides.
They were each dressed in their fighting leathers, ready for battle at any moment. Kohl darkened their eyes, and two of them had war streaks across their cheeks, black ones, not unlike the ones in blood I’d tried to scrub from my face after leaving the king’s tent.
One of the karls with a fully painted face stopped before me. He was extremely handsome. Summer-tan skin, hair as black as Ivren’s but with one thick silver streak going through it even though he couldn’t be but a few years my senior. His eyes were pale, the blue so light they almost looked frozen.
I must have stared because the man grinned. I almost turned my head as he remained still, his chin slightly downturned, but I realized he was waiting for me to address him.
“Get to know people,” Ivren hissed, a finger poking into my rib.
After offering Ivren a glower, I smiled weakly at the man. “Did you not hear the king? There is no need for formalities here.”
It was as if he knew exactly what had happened the past few moments in my mind because his crooked smile widened. “You look radiant yourself, heir of the Sweengards.”
Ivren snorted, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Was I that obvious?”
The man shrugged. “I’m used to it.”
“I’m sure,” I replied, my smile coming easier. “And you’re clearly humble too.”
“Oh, the humblest.” He grinned almost as wide as Ivren. “Unless you don’t wish me so. I can also be arrogant and stuck up if that’s preferable. It all comes quite easily to me.”
I’d been about to take a sip from the cup I’d snatched back from Ivren when a bout of laughter surprised me, and I sprayed the wine before me in a very un-heiry way.
It was quiet for a long second before the beautiful man started laughing so hard he threw his head back and his long raven hair tumbled down his back in such perfect waves I lifted my fingers to touch my own tangled mess.
When I gave him a sheepish look, a few of the people behind him followed and soon everyone, including Ivren, was wheezing from not getting enough air.
While they were laughing at me yet again, this time there was no edge of ruin to the sound, and my joints moved a little easier as I shifted my weight.
“You’re not what I expected,” the man said as he calmed.