It had been eight summers since he’d last stood here, and the wary guards eyed Skjöld with suspicion—a blond brute draped in a massive bearskin cloak, braided beard and tangled hair, tattoos winding across his arms like living runes, a blue dragon curling up his thick neck. Their hands drifted toward their swords as whispers passed between them.
"Halt! Identify yourselves," one barked.
Skjöld’s voice was steady and low. "I am Skjöld, son of Skårde and Ylva. Known as theSon of the Dragon.”
The castle sentinels exchanged uncertain glances. Slowly, the weapons lowered, replaced by stunned nods.
"Odin’s eye...Skjöld, is that you?" Heavy boots thudded down the stone steps and hurried across the grassy glen. Bjarke, the first knight ofChâteau Blancwho had beenDag’s closest friend, had also trained Skjöld with axe, spear, and sword. He reached out and grasped Skjöld’s broad shoulders, his grip firm and grounding. “By the gods,” he rasped, his voice rough as gravel. “You’re even more of a bloody beast than yourfaðir!”
Bjarke’s gaze softened as he appraised Skadi with admiring eyes. A slow grin spread beneath his weathered beard. “Skjöld, you’ve brought quite the fierce shieldmaidenwith you. She looks as wild and strong as you do.”
Skjöld’s hand tightened around hers. “This is Skadi. She has fought at my side through shadow and storm.” He flashed her a proud, reassuring smile.
When his gaze returned to Bjarke, Skjöld noted a garish slash on the knight’s right cheek. The skin was still pink and taut, the beard unable to grow over the torn flesh. “That’s quite a scar. A Frankish blade?”
“Já. Same bastard who killed Dag and stole his Elven sword—the bloody Count of Soissons. He attacked a second time. Took my face, but not the castle. And now Elfi’s gotGaladirback.” He nodded toward the servants, scurrying about with decorations. “They’re holding the celebration tonight. You’ve arrived just in time.” Bjarke dipped his head respectfully to Skadi, then turned to Skjöld. “Come, let me take you inside. Your parents are with Lord Thorfinn, Elfi, and Njörd.”
* * * *
The threads of silver in her golden hair shimmered in the morning light which poured through the eastern windows of the Great Hall. Skjöld spotted his mother arranging flowers with Elfi and Sif.
When she looked up, Ylva didn’t recognize him at first. But then her lovely face broke into a radiant smile, her brilliant blue eyes crinkling with surprise and joy.
“Skjöld!”
She dropped the boughs of heather onto the trestle table and flew across the pinewood floor, emerald green gown trailing behind her. Breathless with elation, overcome with emotion, she threw her arms around his neck and covered his bearded cheek with fervent, grateful kisses. “Praise the gods, you’ve come home!”
“It’s good to see you,Maman.”
Skjöld had always called her by the French name, just as Ylva had done with her own mother Lova. “I’ve missed you very much.Tu me manquais beaucoup.”
He hugged her tight, lifted her off the floor, and spun her in a swooping circle.
She laughed in sheer delight.
When he set her down, Ylva withdrew her arms and stepped back. She smiled warmly at Skadi, then spoke to Skjöld. “You brought her.”
Skjold blinked in surprise. “You know her name?”
Ylva searched Skadi’s ice blue eyes, as if sensing thefrostfiremagic coiling beneath the pearlescent skin. “No,but I know her wings. Shimmery, silver… stretched wide across the sky.” Her ethereal voice was distant and haunting. “I saw them in a vision. You were at her side, blood on your blade, snow in your hair.” His mother’s gaze, clear as a crystalline spring, softened as she touched Skadi’s cheek. “You are thefrostdragon,”Ylva whispered with reverent awe. “Healer through water. Wielder of flame.”
Skadi bowed her luminous, humble head.
Ylva’s far-seeing eyes turned to Skjold. “I saw you both battle theDökkálfar.Your shield was ablaze withfrostfire. I glimpsed Haldor’s birds… Njörd’s wolves… the crimson-eyed witch…” Her voice caught. “Úlvhild…” she breathed, panic flashing across her stricken face. “She fell… I saw her fall. Skjold—does she live?”
Skjold wrapped his arms around her, cradling Ylva inside his bearskin cloak. “She lives,Maman. Haldor summoned Freyja in theDragon’s Leapcave.”
Relief flooded Ylva’s face, her eyes brimming with grateful tears.
A young girl with long blonde hair came up to Ylva’s side. Hesitant and unsure, she looked up at Skjöld with wide, inquisitive eyes.
“Vivi? Is that you?” Skjöld beheld his little sister. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been only four winters old. And now, she was a beauty, just likeMaman.As he took hold of Vivi’s hand and lifted it to his bristled lips, liquid magic flowed up the runes tattooed in waves upon his forearm. “You don’t remember me, but I’m your brother, Skjöld. You were but a babe when my mentorHaldor Falk took me to train in the Faroe Islands.”
A shy smile illuminated her pretty face. “I knew you were coming. I saw you in the freshwater pool near the sacred grove.” She glanced at Skadi. “With aLjósálfarwho flies as afrostdragon.And unleashes ice blue flame.”
Skjöld grinned at his sister. “It seems we both shareMaman’sgift of sight through water.” He turned to Ylva. “Does Tryggvi have it as well?”
Ylva chuckled and pulled Vivi close to kiss her shining hair. “Non,he takes after your father. A battle-hardened warrior through and through.”
