Chapter 16
Sixteen
Fire crackled at every hearth in the longhouse, its flames dancing up the dark wooden walls and the heat wrapping around us like a blanket made of falsely gentle wool.
An upbeat tune wove through the house from the king’s musicians standing in the brightly lit corner by the door, and food filled every table that had been brought in, but conversations were hushed, not a single person dancing or laughing.
The air was thick with worry of who would come through the doors next.
And who wouldn’t show up at all. The music which should have been calming only made me fidget more, the urge to cover my ears against the flute and drums so intense I sighed deeply.
I’d been here for hours—facing predatory stares and harsher whispers—to ensure the one I’d choose as my second had made it, but Viljan was still nowhere to be seen.
I spread my fingers over the thick bear fur covering the bed to ease my twitching limbs. Kilia sat two hearths over, and his body was so still it was hard to imagine his heart still beat in his chest.
He hadn’t spoken a word to me the entire time we’d fought our way back to the beach.
He’d been a ghost walking beside me, and whenever he’d bothered to swing toward our enemies, those strikes had been so half hearted I’d had to step in far more times than I wanted.
Kilia hadn’t even looked at me the two days it had taken us to swim back, or the night we’d stopped on a small isle to rest.
“How are you doing?” Ivren’s face was serious as he threw himself on the bed beside me.
His onyx hair was dirty and still wet, strands of it falling into his blue eyes, and his skin had paled, the golden tan nowhere to be found.
Like mine, his body was peppered with small wounds from the ravens’ beaks—angry red lines, since the scabs had fallen off every time we swam in the cool water.
I shrugged. “Same as you, I think.”
He did his best to give me a blinding smile. “So perfect, then?”
My hollow laugh did nothing to help him. “Apart from all the death, and the injuries and the swim.”
“All in the name of the conquest and the crown, right?”
When I elbowed him, a wince replaced whatever was left of his weak smile.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
There was a darker stain on his jacket—one that didn’t come from the sea he’d just left behind—and I reached for the fabric.
“Ivren,” I whispered as I peeled his tunic back, careful as it stuck to the gaping wound where bright red blood still dripped through the thicker, darker coat. “You need a healer.”
He placed his hand on mine, and I stilled under his warm fingers.
“No.” He grinned at me again, but no light filled his eyes. “I can’t give them the satisfaction.”
I didn’t need to ask who when his gaze flicked to the side, to the group of karls with Geord in the lead. I’d glimpsed them once on the journey back here, and their menacing smiles had made it easy to keep up with Kilia’s strokes.
They hadn’t bothered us, but I doubted it was my skills in the sea that had kept me safe. Kilia had made us sit on a cliff all night on the small island we’d stopped to rest at, and if I hadn’t been tied to him, I would have also kept far away at the look in his eyes.
While Kilia still didn’t look my way, another pair of eyes made me shift on the bed. Darcke and his men leaned against the wall behind Kilia’s hearth, their eyes sweeping over the tension-laden room as the strange warrior muttered orders to them.
I gripped Ivren’s tunic harder. I knew Gustief’s men weren’t supposed to intervene.
Yet the image was burned into my mind: Darcke sitting atop the stone, watching with a detached cruelty as the wolves ripped Oscri apart.
There had been no horror in his gaze, only an emptiness that made him look more like a predator than the beasts themselves.
His eyes narrowed at whatever he saw in my face. I huffed through my nose, giving him what I hoped was a demeaning look.
“What did they do to you?” I asked as I turned back to Ivren.
“They teamed up with some of the captives on the island.” His eyes flashed.
“Ambushed us after we cleared the glen with the wolves. Sigur and I got away, although Sigur took a bad beating.” He jerked his head toward the man he’d partnered with, who was lying at a hearth across the room. “He’ll survive.”
The silence that followed made goose bumps rise across my arms.
“Who didn’t make it?” I asked, unsure if I wanted to know.
Ivren sighed, one of his hands raking through his hair. “Adrion.”
I swallowed as Ivren’s fingers caressed the back of my hand.
“One of them crushed his skull before we even reached the glen. I assume the king will announce the new heir tonight after he’s informed Adrion’s family,” he continued.
The karls Ivren had spoken about turned our way, and when I raised a brow, Geord winked at me as he drew a finger across his neck.
“They’re cocky,” I said.
“They got one of us.” Ivren shrugged before he moved my hand and pulled at his jacket to cover his wound. “They’re going to try to take us all down. It’s happened before.”
“I know,” I replied.
The generation before my father’s, a group of ruthless Vikings had banded together and killed all five heirs before their seconds were appointed, each one taking one of their spots before the reigning king—our king’s father—had realized the danger they posed to the crown and exiled them and their iron-bound.
“I’m glad you two made it.”
Ivren and I jumped as Fedic threw himself on the bed.
“So skittish.” He dragged a hand through his thick hair so that the gray streak in the black shimmered. “You’d think you’re scared of those boys over there.”
When I raised my brows, Fedic moved to fling an arm over my shoulder. “I mean, they are definitely out for blood.” Fedic laughed. “Your blood. But with that Sweengard strength, you can take them.” He pulled me closer. “Besides, I have your back.”
“The fuck you do,” a deep voice growled. “I have her back.”
When I flew to my feet, Viljan recoiled, his boots scuffing the ground and driving up dust around us. Ivren and Fedic shared a look, but I ignored them.
“I worried for you,” I said.
“I looked for you everywhere,” Viljan said, his tone sharp. “But it was like we walked in opposite fucking directions every time. And no one could tell me where you were. Everyone I was stuck with was useless, they—”
I shook my head, and Viljan quieted, although he remained tense, his shoulders hiked high.
“How are you doing?” I asked quietly.
Viljan looked like he’d ventured through Hel. His braids were gone, his long hair tangled as it tumbled down his ripped leathers. There was a tiredness in his eyes I’d never seen before, although it faded the longer I stood before him.
“Better than she is.” He waved a hand toward Stefen, Rakkel’s guard.
The heir was in his arms, and her eyes were closed as Stefen placed her on the cot beside us. Her chest moved rapidly up and down, and blood trickled out of her mouth, weaving down her long neck.
“What happened?” Ivren demanded. “When I saw her, she was fine.”
Viljan’s face darkened, but a low voice interrupted whatever he’d been about to say.
“We were attacked when we swam the final stretch.” It was the girl with the purple-tinted hair and the eyes as dark as the ocean she was referring to. “It was like they knew who we were. They went straight for Rakkel.” She nodded toward Viljan and Stefen. “Even these two brutes couldn’t stop them.”
“Of course they knew her,” Ivren said. “She’s an heir.”
“But they weren’t initiates.” The girl shook her head. “They weren’t dressed as Vikings. I don’t know. We were far from Svartoarna by the time they came for us.”
“I don’t think they were from there,” Stefen said. “They could not have escaped the ships. Only initiates were allowed to leave.”
The fire sparked in the silence. Kilia and I had also had to pass the ships where the king’s men had stood with their spears, watching every stroke and every line of our faces to ensure we weren’t the prisoners Gustief wished to keep on that cursed island.
“Who were they, then?” I asked.
“Enemies.” Darcke came walking into the hearth. “Who saw their faces?”
Stefen and Rakkel’s partner raised their hands.
“What about you?” Darcke asked Viljan.
My guard made a noncommittal sound.
“Answer me,” Darcke demanded.
“Yes,” Viljan grumbled. “I saw their faces.”
My laughter didn’t shock only me but quieted our entire side of the longhouse.
“What’s funny?” the warrior asked quietly. There wasn’t a single sign that he’d broken the rules for me a few days ago—not an ounce of the respect I thought I’d read in the way his fingers had moved so assuredly when he tied me and Kilia together.
I could have answered several ways. Watching him and Viljan glare at each other, and not knowing which one of them could brood the hardest. Seeing the still-reddened skin around Darcke’s straight nose and knowing it was the result of my well-placed boot.
Reading the confusion in both men’s eyes as they tried to understand what went on in my mind.
But I voiced none of them. I wished to sleep before my life was threatened again.
“Nothing,” I said instead. “Nothing at all.”
Darcke came closer, and Fedic held his breath while Ivren’s hand moved to my thigh—as if that grip would somehow protect me from the warrior’s wrath.
“Watch it,” Viljan warned.
The dark chuckle quelled even the crackling from the fire. “Or what? You can’t even keep track of her for five minutes.” Darcke shook his head. “I could kill her right here and you wouldn’t be able to stop me.”
I raised a hand when Viljan took a step toward the warrior. “I’ve got it.”
“Do you now?” One side of Darcke’s mouth lifted, and his eyes dipped to Ivren’s hand for a second before colliding with mine. “I’ve been patient with you.”
“Have you now?” I couldn’t help responding, echoing his tone. “I wouldn’t want to find out what you being impatient meant, then.”