Rikard nodded solemnly, his shrewd gaze introspective and intense. “Such strength…and shared magic…will bind this family much more than gold ever could.”
Skjöld’s heart soared, wild and free, like Skadi’s shimmering wings. “Come. It’s time you met mysoulboundmate.”
Skjöld led hisfaðirandáfidown into the Great Hall, where flames ofbeeswax candles flickered in wall sconces and the sweet floral aroma of wildflowers mingled with the salty scent of the sea.
Skadi stood near the stone hearth, flanked by Ylva and Vivi, a garland oféglantineroses in her pale hands, sparkling silver threads braided into her glorious blonde hair. She looked up as they entered, an otherworldly glow in her ice blue eyes
“Faðir…Áfi…” Skjöld’s voice rang with pride as he took hold of Skade’s hand and gently brought her to his side. “This is Skadi, mysoulboundmate.”
Skårde smiled at her and gallantly bowed at the waist. He took hold of her porcelain hand, and lifted it to his bearded lips. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Skadi. Not only are you beautiful, but I’m told you’re invincible in battle.” Straightening, he grinned with unmistakable pride, a vigorous glint in his warrior gaze. “And truly, it is most fitting that the son of theDragon of Denmarkshould choose afrostdragonfor his mate.”
To honor Lord Thorfinn and his fallen son Dag at the ceremonial burial, Rikard had donned his ducal coronet, the faceted garnets sparkling within swirls of shimmering silver. He approached Skadi with stately grace, the white ermine trim of his deep red cloak majestic and regal, the silver in his beard, ornate brooch, and etched armband glimmering in the golden light. He cradled Skadi’s slender hand inside both of his, the welcoming gesture warm, paternal, and reverent. Rikard pressed a gracious kiss to her pale knuckles. “Welcome, Skadi,” he said, his rich voice both comforting and commanding. “You are now kin to Normandy and Denmark alike. A daughter of our noble house.”
“Your welcome honors me, Jarl Rikard and Lord Skårde,” Skadi said with a graceful bow of her pale blonde head. The silver threads Elfi had woven into her long, lustrous hair sparkled like captured starlight. “By frost and flame, by blood and bond, I pledge my loyalty and kinship to you both.” Her crystalline voice softened as her ice blue eyes fixed upon Skjöld: “And I am yours. Always.”
Chapter 27
Sword, Son, and Skald
Resplendent in a black cloak trimmed with ermine, an ornate silver moonstone brooch at his shoulder, Thorfinn appeared in the doorway of the Great Hall, theLjósálfarswordGaladircradled in his gloved palms. Sheathed in a scabbard of shimmeringdragonscaleleather adorned with glitteringgildirgems, the magnificent blade gleamed with otherworldly brilliance in the firelight’s golden glow.
As the women joined their men, Thorfinn led the procession fromChâteau Blanc. He was followed by Jarl Rikard escorting Oda—Thorfinn’s elderly mother and Elfi’s grandmother,châtelaineof the clifftop castle. Skårde came next, proudly leading Ylva and Vivi on each arm, his deep green tunic etched with silver in his heraldic colors as theDragon of Normandy.
Behind them, Njord escorted Elfi, then Skjöld with his radiant Skadi, her silver-threaded hair shimmering like frost in the torchlight. Bodo followed—limping once again now that the cursed ring had been removed—with a jubilant Sif on his arm. Overjoyed that Thorfinn had granted her freedom, she would marry Bodo on the winter solstice, alongside Elfi and Njörd.
The tallÚlfhédinnNjáll came next, his black wolfskin cloak and dark hair a stark contrast to the pale blondeLjósálfarLuna at his side. They preceded the remaining Light Elves andÚlfhéðnarwho gathered in quiet reverence within the hallowed sacred grove.
In the quiet heart of the dense forest, mist coiled around the roots of the ancient ash, beech, and fir trees. AsLjósálfarmagic rippled in waves up theLaguzrunes inked along his forearms, Skjöld sensed the protective wards that Lugh had cast around the burial groundandla Forêt du Loupnearby.Skadi must have felt it, too, for she squeezed his hand, her clear eyes sparkling like the icy fjord in Norway.
Not wishing to disturb Dag’s body, which had been buried months before, Thorfinn’s men had dug a narrow grave beside his son’shaugr, whereGaladirand treasured gifts would now be laid to rest. Within a stone enclosure in the clearing near the grave, a small ceremonial fire flickered as Ylva and Vivi—who had always chanted with Úlvhild for rituals, offerings, and blessings—now sang avardlokkurto summon spirits and the gods to honor Dag.
Ylva and Vivi tossed juniper berries, meadowsweet, and yarrow into the fire.The sweet, smoky scent of fresh herbs filled the crisp night air, invoking protection, peace, and purification to honor Thorfinn’s fallen son. Vivi poured golden mead into the fragrant flames from an elkhorn etched with runes and embellished with glowing amber gems. Ylva let drip the sacrificial blood of the goat as a sacred offering to the gods while she chanted the invocation of blessing.
“Gods and spirits,
Hear our song.
AsGaladiris laid to rest
Within this sacred grove.
Let this sword return to Dag’s noble side.
Let peace rise where grief has lain.
Odin, remember the light out hero bore.
Freyr, guard the stillness of this hallowed ground.
May Dag’s valor and his Elven blade
Shine bright in the glory of Valhalla.”
Their ritual blessing complete, Ylva and Vivi returned to Skårde’s side among the group gathered in the sacred grove.
Thorfinn approached the grave,Galadircradled in loving arms like his fallen son. When he knelt before the mound, the wind stilled, as if the forest held its hallowed breath.
Standing beside Njörd, Elfi inhaled sharply, one hand clutching the irontrollkorsat her throat.
