Chapter 45 #2
I kept my gaze on the dead man as Darcke’s soft voice tried to seal my broken heart. It must have only worked on physical wounds, because there was nothing that could stop the hurt seeping through me, making every nerve quiver with its fierceness.
Hair the color of the horizon at dawn was splayed around the man’s face, and as I went to move his thin body from touching Ottoh’s, my foot hooked behind my other leg.
This was no man. This was a young boy, and his face…
“This… this is the karl who was tied to Ottoh that first test,” I said slowly. “Look!”
Darcke came to my side, his hand slipping into mine.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
My second pulled me to him, his arm winding protectively around my chest. “I think so.”
But why? Why would he be here? Why would he kill Ottoh?
“We should go,” Darcke said quietly as he held me closer. “They won’t like it if we’re late.”
“Darcke! This is no foreigner. I don’t know which island he hails from, but he’s from here! He’s from Skagerik.”
“So?”
“What do you mean, ‘so’? Why would he be fighting with the foreigners?”
“Karls have tried to go after you all this whole time,” Darcke said, but he sounded as convinced as I felt.
“No.” I said. “That’s not it. That can’t be it!”
“We need to go,” Darcke said. “I… I can’t risk your life again. Not after—”
“But this matters!”
Darcke raised his voice. “You matter! How can you not see that! You. Matter.”
“I know I scared you,” I snarled. “But something is fucking going on, and I need to figure out what it is. Nothing makes sense!”
Darcke pulled me to him, his heart pounding against my chest. “What’s going on is that you’re going to the gods any fucking moment now, and I can’t keep you safe there! I can’t be by your side. You need to focus on that. You need to focus on what you’re going to do.”
Nauseating, crippling fear gripped me. The gods. I’d stand before them soon. Maybe even today, if they were eager. And then I’d have to decide if Ivren’s plan could work.
My lip trembled at Ottoh’s shut eyes and Darcke’s frantic, haunted gaze.
Both were eerie reminders of what I had to lose if I failed. Ottoh a reminder of my family’s fate, and Darcke of my people. The shaking continued into my shoulders and settled in my hands.
For them—for all of them—I would do this. I’d unseat the king and earn my rune.
Or I’d die trying.
Darcke watched me, and when I pushed my shoulders back, a shadow of pride pulled at the corner of his mouth before it was on my own.
His hand slipped into my hair, and there was nothing soft about the kiss: it was heated and desperate and everything he wanted to say but there wasn’t time for.
It was a goodbye and good luck and please-stay-with-me in one. I pretended not to notice as heat flared in my core, and I held him closer, letting his tongue and lips guide me—drive every coherent thought from my mind—until he abruptly pulled back, his eyes shut as if in pain.
“We should go,” he said again, his voice hoarse.
“What was that for?” I asked, even though I could feel his anguish.
One side of his mouth lifted. “In case I don’t get a second chance.”
I hated him for being honest at that moment. I wished he could have lied—that he could have promised me we’d survive this—that I’d claim the same rune as my father and that I could save him and that we could just live.
But that wasn’t Darcke.
Darcke was the man who picked up Ottoh as if he was made from the most sacred of metals, carrying him in his arms the entire way to the beach.
Darcke was the man who sent me courage and strength when the king’s ship floated by his own.
Darcke was the man who whispered “You can do this. I know you can do this” when Vero came running.
“Is that? No! Please, Odin, no!” The new Briggen heir fell to her knees before I could catch her. “No!”
I didn’t have any more words when Vero sobbed into my shoulder, her cries splitting my head like the worst of headaches.
I held on to her as the king strode down the bow of his ship, as always in his stupid fucking fur with the thick gold chain lying across his chest, coming to a halt before the row of heirs and seconds.
They bowed their heads, but even from where I was kneeling in the sand, my arms around Vero, the rage on Ivren’s, Viljan’s, Geord’s, and even Rakkel’s face was as clear as the sea spreading out before them.
“We lost another one?” The king clicked his tongue. “He must have dishonored the gods.” His eyes briefly touched mine before landing on Darcke. “The sister will have to do.”
I was on my feet before Vero or Darcke could stop me.
Sand flew around me as I ran for the king, and I was able to shake off Rakkel’s grip first, then Ivren’s. The pain from the wound in my side made my vision blurry, but I refused to stop. Refused to acknowledge the warmth running down my leg.
I was only seven steps away. Six. Five. Then strong arms wrapped around my stomach, and Viljan swung me around, hiding from the king as he hissed in my ear, “Calm down. Calm the fuck down now, or you will not be able to do anything about this.”
My thoughts were a jumbled mess as I glared at him, but when I read the sorrow and disgust in his eyes, my anger melted away as quickly as it had come about, excruciating, exhausting pain from both my injuries and our reality replacing it.
I wanted to run to my second—I only wanted Darcke at that moment—to feel his hands on me, his hard body pressed against mine, his deep accented voice whispering into my ear—distracting me, making all of this go away.
But I couldn’t do that. So I hid my face against Viljan’s shoulder, trying to ignore the frustration rolling off the man behind me.
“Someone is eager to meet their gods,” the king drawled.
I didn’t dare look up when Viljan gasped, and even Darcke’s heart stuttered. It was only when I remained alive for the next thirty seconds that I peeked over my guard’s shoulder.
The entire sky was covered in pink and green and blue and red and purple, starting from the island we were standing on and leading north, brightening with each moment the sky itself darkened.
“Our gods are calling.” The shaman came up behind the king, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Majesty, we should get going.”
The king gave each of us a look before smirking as he righted the chain on his chest. “Good luck,” he offered as he spun, following the shaman onto the ship.