Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Rakkel had to shove me forward, and I nearly fell before the warriors as I walked up to the western fire. Ivren and Viljan were both turned my way still, but I kept my gaze on the flames, on the orange and red that used to remind me of warm winters at our hearth but now only taunted me.
Would the gods claim my life today? Or would they wait until whoever I chose as my second did it for them when they found out about my magic?
Would Viljan have time to send word to my mother?
Would she be able to escape with my siblings before a new chief came to kill them?
As I stared out at the people before me, I saw familiar faces from home in every pair of green eyes, every shade of red hair, and every curved mouth.
My heart pounded in my ears as I imagined my people finding out how I’d failed.
How they wouldn’t be able to defend themselves against the Viking clans coming to enslave them.
How the hope that had shone in all eyes but my mother’s would be killed along with me.
Someone cleared their throat. There was something urgent and tight around Ilse’s mouth when I looked up, and she moved her hand, forming a fist over her heart before lifting it into the air.
“Elvara Sweengard, you need to choose.” The king’s voice sounded as if from far away.
Other hands, lifted in the same promised goodbye, etched themselves into my mind.
My mother might have given up hope, but my people hadn’t. It had been clear when they stood on the docks, filled with sorrow but unyielding as they wished me courage on my journey. They would cling to that hope until the last moment, because it was the only thing we had left.
I took a breath of salty air.
Who was I to give up when my lungs still moved, when my soul still yearned, when my limbs still worked?
I fueled my body with more air. Slowly, my chin lifted. Then my eyes focused. My back straightened, and my ears filled with the sounds of hundreds of beating hearts, of fire and sea and life.
I might have trusted the wrong person, and I might not have much hope left.
But I was still alive. And while I breathed, the gods were not finished with me.
“You need to choose.” Impatience filled Gustief’s order, and I nodded once as I stepped forward.
I would formally bond with my second only before the academy began in the fall. I’d needed that to be Viljan because whoever I tied myself to would know that there was no power running through my veins, and once they found out, they would come for me.
I had no allies here that would keep that a secret. Not if they could claim my seat and my people. Even as my iron-bound, they’d find a way around the bond.
“My men will make you choose if you don’t speak,” Gustief snarled.
I blinked as I faced the warriors coming toward me.
I had no allies. But what if there was another way?
Darcke’s eyes bore into mine, his entire being a warning as his shadow fell over me and my fire. A strange sound left me.
What if I didn’t need allies?
What if my enemies could help me better than my own people?
Viljan’s words echoed inside me. You can choose anyone as your second as long as they stand before you on the day of the choosing.
As Darcke and his warriors came within ten feet, my shoulders lowered.
His people don’t have magic since the king’s shaman spelled them—since he leashed that part of their minds.
Ottoh had spat the words like venom, his contempt for the warrior’s shortcomings clear.
An empty laugh left me. But to me? That void in his veins could be a sanctuary.
The man who hated me perhaps more than anyone was almost before me when I spoke.
“Darcke A’lian.”
A crushing hush swallowed the glen.
I watched the Hird’s discipline splinter and the warriors falter like prey at the sun’s first ray at dawn. These were men who didn’t flinch at the sight of a vicious battle, yet they now stood paralyzed, their mouths agape. The king wasn’t much better, his brows high and eyes rounded.
I refused to lower my voice. “I choose Darcke A’lian as my second.”
The world around me exploded.
“She can’t do that!”
“That’s not allowed!”
“He’s not an initiate!”
The crowd’s grumbling rose until screams echoed over the water.
“Silence,” the king bellowed. “I said, silence!”
One by one, the voices in the crowd faded out, until the final complaints drifted away with the salty breeze. In the quiet, I finally dared to meet the eyes of the man I’d tied to my wyrd. His dark gaze was bottomless, churning with all the things I expected: hate, confusion, and rage.
That ounce of respect I thought I’d earned the past few days was long gone.
But it was the slow, fractured smile warping his features that nearly buckled my knees. It unfolded like a mask of cruel amusement, a promise as lethal as his axes pressing against my throat.
I cursed to myself at the look of despair taking over Viljan’s face, at the raw fear in Rakkel’s tight hands, at the hardness of Ivren’s jaw. Even Ottoh looked worried, although he turned before I could read his expression fully.
“I…” I wiped the back of my hand over my forehead. “We can pick any karl standing before us. That is the only rule.”
It looked like a smile tugged at King Gustief’s lips, but I must have imagined it because his face returned to his harsh expression the next moment. “The gods will decide,” the king declared. “Let him try, and if the gods agree, it shall be so.”
“No,” Darcke barked. “I do not accept.”
“You do not have that say,” Gustief snapped. “She is an heir—a jarl. You are a karl. She decides.”
“I am a warrior,” Darcke snarled, his accent stronger than ever. “I am not in her service.”
“If the gods agree, you are.” Gustief turned from the foreign warrior. “Your men will hold you to it.”
Darcke’s laugh was too sharp—too arrogant—grating against the silence with a confidence that made my blood run cold. “They will do no such thing.”
“They report to me,” the king growled, and magic lashed the air until everyone stepped back from the king apart from Darcke, who stood defiantly in place.
“Darcke,” Torden pleaded quietly. “Enough.”
“No,” Darcke said. “It’s not fucking enough.” He spun to me, his laughter poisonous. “I guess I mistook your stupidity for weakness. I won’t be making that mistake again.”
“Darcke,” the king warned. “Go to your heir now.”
“Don’t make us do this.” Borje slapped a large hand against Darcke’s back. “Don’t make us hurt you.”
None of them looked my way, but I felt their hostility in the raised shoulders and taut necks. The muscle in Darcke’s jaw worked hard, but finally he snapped his lips shut and stormed up to the fire.
His unforgiving eyes flew my way. “What are you waiting for, heir?”
I almost shrugged until the warning in his coiled body made me think better of it.
“If you’re forcing me to do this, you will be the one to make me bleed,” Darcke said. “Your gods should see what you are doing. If they fucking dare watch.”
I didn’t doubt for a moment that they were watching—I just didn’t know if they were preparing their blades for my neck or pulling up a chair to the saga, to the fucking chaos that was my life.
“Come on then,” Darcke taunted. “Come try make me your second.”
The hostility rolling off him and everyone around me should have made me cower, but I forced my head to remain raised as I breached the distance between us. I blocked the insults hammering against my ears, ignored the smirks and the calls for the gods to judge me.
As I passed Torden and the other three warriors, Torden reached out for me.
“Here,” he whispered as he pressed a beautiful dagger into my hands, one with a hilt that glittered like the sky above us, shining like polished snow and reflecting the red and green lights that still burned bright.
I didn’t dare thank him—didn’t trust my voice to hold—so I only gave him a quick look. Whatever he saw in my face made him turn away, and so did the other warriors when I continued walking the few steps it took me to get to Darcke’s side.
My hand didn’t shake when Darcke stretched out his arm.
His skin was blazing hot when I placed his hand in mine, and his vicious expression deepened at the flinch running through me.
Still, I kept his eyes as I dragged the blade across his palm, waiting until two drops dripped onto the logs stoking the fire.
Nothing happened. Seconds dragged on so agonizing slowly that I felt every heartbeat pounding inside my chest. My pulse thrummed when voices dared to speak again, and I jumped backward when Darcke’s eyes flashed, his hands twitching to his axes.
But as his wolfish smile returned, the sky shattered, and the world was drowned in a haunting, ethereal pink that swiftly overtook the green and the red before merging with it—dancing, almost—as if it had always belonged.
“Which god is that?” someone shouted.
“What is that color?”
“That’s not Odin, or Thor, or Frigg, or Tyr.”
Darcke only stared at me as the waves whirled across the sky.
“What have you done?” he whispered furiously. “What did you do?”
I had no reply, so I only shook my head. I had no idea who had awoken to approve Darcke as my second—who was telling us he or she was watching.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
It took the king long moments to quiet the crowd again, and when he did, there was something that hadn’t been there before in his expression. He didn’t look directly at me when he waved for me to go on.
I swallowed as I spoke my next name. “Kilia Havskold.”
Darcke’s laugh settled in my soul.
“If you wanted to die,” he whispered, his hot breath hitting my ear as he leaned in to ensure no one else would hear him, “you could have only asked. From what I’ve understood, anyone here would be willing to split your skull.
Maybe even your guard. He didn’t look too upset at being chosen by your supposed friend. ”
I stared straight ahead as a viciously smirking Kilia came to our side.
“Me as well,” the twin challenged as he reached out a hand.
My movements were jerky as I cut him, and the pink in the sky brightened—flickered fiercely for several long moments—as if with mirth.
Fire burned behind my eyes as Kilia laughed before taking up a spot beside Darcke, and I wondered if I’d called to a god at all or an evil spirit that couldn’t wait until these two men bled me dry.
I could barely see when I turned to the crowd once more.
Fedic was standing almost right before me, his hands twisting behind his back. There wasn’t a shadow of a smile brightening his features, but he did still look at me when I paused.
Ilse stood a few steps back, and while fear didn’t tighten her features, something else worked there—that same sharp wit I’d seen before we were attacked. Turning from me to the other two men, she frowned, then the corners of her eyes tightened for a moment.
She was too clever for her own good.
I turned to my iron-bound—two men with such hatred in their eyes. It was unlikely I’d survive anyway. Better to keep another danger close.
“Ilse Snarskog,” I called.
There wasn’t any hesitation in her strides as she walked up to the fire—almost as if she’d known I’d choose her—and thankfully she used her own arrowhead to cut open her palm.
When the four drops landed on the burning wood, it was extinguished instantly, the fire swallowing itself until not even a wisp of smoke remained.