A hush swept through the solar as Rikard’s sharp gaze fixed upon Skårde.
Hisfaðir’sbearded face broke into a proud grin as he glanced at Skjöld. “My son has not come home alone.” He gestured toward the hallway beyond the solar. “He issoulboundto Skádi of theLjósálfar.Ajótunnwarrior andfrostdragon.”
Lugh inclined his silvery blond head in quiet approval. “She fought at our side in Ísland. But for her, we would not have prevailed.”
A thoughtful silence settled over the solar once more, the weight of Lugh’s words lingering in the air. Skårde stared into the fire, his pensive brow deeply furrowed.
Then his head lifted.
A flicker of light sparked in his eyes, as if an idea were taking shape. He straightened his back, squaring his wide shoulders. “There is another way.”
All eyes turned toward him, eager to hear his proposed plan.
“My second son, Tryggvi, is of age,” Skårde ventured, holding Rikard’s wary gaze. “He bears the same royal blood as Skjöld, but unlike his brother… is unpromised.” He glanced around the table, seeking support for his suggestion. “If Sigurd seeks a groom of worthy blood to bind his house to ours… then let it be Tryggvi.”
Rikard leaned back in his chair, stroking his silver-streaked golden beard as he considered the offer. A slow nod followed, approval glinting in his astute eyes. “A bold, wise proposal.” His commanding ducal gaze swept from Skårde to the others. “Thiswill please Sweyn even more than the match with Haldor. Tryggvi is his blood. Haldor is not.”
Skårde lifted his goblet, deep voice steady with conviction. “Sweyn has not forgotten that it was Haldor—in falcon form—who found him in the north tower ofLe Palais Royalin Pariswhere King Lothaire had imprisoned him as a young boy.” He downed a bracing gulp of mead. wiping his bearded chin with the back of a scarred hand. “He is deeply indebted to us for freeing him. And will be honored not only to spare Haldor from Sigurd’s wrath, but to unite our houses in a powerful Norse alliance against Saxons and Franks alike.”
A murmur of assent rippled through the room.
“Sweyn will be generous.” Rikard nodded in contemplation as he drained his silver goblet. “He might offer the Isle of Sheppey, one of his land holdings just off the Kentish coast ofAengaland. Sweyn will grant it to Tryggvi, if the match is made.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “And if Sigurd is wise, he will match it with a dowry of his own. The Isle of Skye, perhaps.”
Skårde pledged a generous bride price for his second son’s betrothal. “As amundrfor Svanhild, I offer tendrakkarlongships, five hundred Danish warriors seasoned in raids and battle, and fifty pounds of fine silver to honor this invaluable alliance.”
Rikard nodded gravely. “The dukedom of Normandy will stand with you. I also pledge ten ships and five hundred of my finest men. A noblemundrworthy of Jarl Sigurd’s only daughter.”
Thorfinn frowned, hesitant and uncertain. “Tryggvi is but sixteen winters. He is just a boy.”
Skårde inclined his head in respectful contradiction.“Sixteen winters,já—but already Sweyn Forkbeard’s Danish warlord. Tryggvi commands the king’s army, leads lucrative raids across the Baltic coast, and returns wreathed in glory and valiant victory. Mybroðirtrusts him with both strategy and steel.” He grinnedconspiratorially at Skjöld’sáfi.“Jarl Rikard became Duke of Normandy at just fourteen winters. Younger than Tryggvi is now.”
Thorfinn’s expression became pensive and solemn. “Then he
is no ordinary boy.” Reverence and respect tempered his humble tone. “Jarl Rikard, you have defended thePays de Cauxin countless battles. And Skårde,Dragon of Denmark,you’ve led more men into victory than most nobles see in a lifetime. If Sweyn entrusts Tryggvi with command, and you both vouch for him, then I defer to your battle-forged wisdom.”
“It is decided, then.” Rikard refilled Njord’s mug with deliberate care, the rich mead swirling into the silver goblet. He passed the pitcher to Skårde with a nod, then turned back to theWolf of the Nordic Seas.“Njord—since it was you whom Sigurd trusted to deliver his proposal to Haldor, it must be you who carries our reply toSigurðshöll.”
Rikard’s commanding gaze fixed on Skårde. “At dawn, you and Njord will sail toHeiðabýrand speak to Sweyn and Tryggvi. The offer must reach Sigurd by the first week of December.”
Njord nodded solemnly. “Once we have Sweyn’s approval, I shall sail from Denmark toOrkneyjarand present the offer to Sigurd.From there,I’ll voyage to Ísland, where my crew can winter in Ólafsvik. I’ll return to Étretat with Sigurd’s answer—through the cave portal toÁfheimbeneath the Íslyra castle.” He grinned at Thorfinn. “I’ll bring mymoðirwith me when I return. So Queen Íssla of theLjósálfarcan attend the winter solstice wedding that Thorfinn has planned for his daughter Elfi and me—her son.”
Thorfinn nearly choked on his mouthful of mead. “It will be my greatest honor to host theLjósálfarqueen.”
Skårde grinned from ear to bearded ear. “When Sweyn and Tryggvi hear that Queen Íssla will be at Njörd and Elfi’s winter solstice wedding, I am certain they will wish to attend as well.” He raised his mug of mead to Thorfinn. “To royal weddings… and the winter solstice.”
Rikard rose from the table. “Now that we have resolved the matter of Sigurd, let us join the women and gather in the forest.It is time to honor Thorfinn’s son. And buryGaladiralongside Dag in hishaugrof the sacred grove.”
Thorfinn announced that he would fetchGaladirfrom his private chambers. “We’ll meet downstairs in the Great Hall. And escort our women to the forest.”
As the council exited the solar, Skjöld leaned toward hisfaðirand spoke quietly into Skårde’s ear. “Now that the discussion is over, I’d like you to meet Skadi.”
A hint of mirth glinted in Skårde’s warrior gaze. “Then let’s not keep her waiting.” He spoke to Rikard across the table. “Jarl Rikard,” he called, summoning the Duke of Normandy with a subtle toss of his head. “There’s someone Skjöld would like you to meet.”
When Rikard joined them, Skjöld told his father and grandfather of Skadi’s remarkable story. “She is halfLjósálfarand halfjötunn,”he explained quietly,“but since hermoðirdied in childbirth, and herfaðirwas slain defending her from theDökkáfar,she bears the shame of having no dowry.”
Heshowed them thefjórúnmark inside his left palm. “Skadi and I aresoulboundthrough water and flame. She heals withnen glir, the sameLjósálfarmagic with which I seek visionsthrough water.”Skjöld gestured to theÍsfirshield strapped across his back. “We are also bound through the flames offrostfire,which I wield with this Dwarven shield.And she unleashes as afrostdragon.”
Skårde’s eyes gleamed with fierce approval. “It matters not that she has no dowry. Afrostdragonis worth far more than land or silver.”
