Zhúlgorr nodded sharply to the beastly blacksmith with the face of Hugh Capet.
With a slow blink, Zorvik’s eyes flared with molten fire, glowing fiercely against the deepening twilight.
“By the fire within,” Zhúlgorr hissed. “He can summon and retract it at will—so only you will see.”
Wiry black hair curling like smoke from the forge, Zhúlgorr grinned from ear to pointed ear. “You have seen Zorvik’s ability as a troll. But now, behold his power as afiregiant.”
At Zhúlgorr’s nod, the beast shifted back, smoke surging as Zorvik raised a clawed right hand. From the molten fire simmering beneath his scaled skin, he summoned a blazing sphere of flame.
He stepped out of the sweltering blacksmith shop, Zhúlgorr and Lothaire close behind. With a mighty heave, Zorvik launchedthe fireball high above the riverfront harbor of Dorestad, trailing sparks across the starlit sky. Far beyond the longboats and trade vessels docked at the port, the ball of flame crashed into the dark waters of the Rhine, sending a hiss of steam high into the cool air, like the molten steel of a quenched sword.
As Lothaire stood in awestruck silence, warning flared in Zhúlgorr’s sinister golden stare. “But there is a price for this power, my king. While Zorvik hides behind human skin… his fire sleeps. He can only hurl flame as a beast. Should thefrostdragonappear while Zorvik wears the face of Hugh Capet…you’ll have your false Count of Paris. But not the fire to sear a dragon’s wings.”
Lothaire swept his blue velvet cloak as he turned to face theDökkálfarlord and formidable, fiery beast. “Once I slay Capet, I want Zorvik to shift back—and burn both enemy and dragon.” He adjusted the crown upon his regal brow, then signaled to the alert captain of his royal guards watching from the window, indicating his intent to depart. “Send Zorvik along with the five dozenDokkalfartola Montagne Couronnéejust before the vernal equinox. When we strike down the traitors who dare defy the Frankish king…”
He paused, letting his proclamation fall like an executioner’s axe.
“We shall show no mercy for Noyon.”
Chapter 37
A Toast to Two Weddings
Sunlight glinted off the pristine white snow like scattered gems or fallen stars. The fresh tang of the fjord mingled with the sharp brine of the sea as Skjöld hauled the sled and skied beside Skadi. They were bringing this last load of firewood, sacks of barley, and other supplies to Haldor and Úlvhild before heading south to Normandy through the waterfall cave.
For their winter solstice wedding atChâteau Blanc.
“Welcome!” Úlvhild exclaimed as they crested the ledge of theDragon’s Leapcave where she simmered a cauldron over the fire of her small outdoor hearth. “I have a pot of fish stew, with fresh haddock that Haldor caught this morning.” Úlvhild placed the lid on her iron pot and rushed over to greet her guests. She threw her arms around Skjöld’s neck, kissed his snowy beard, then each of Skadi’s flushed cheeks.
“What an incredible lynx cloak!” Skadi removed her leather gloves and ran appreciative fingers over the soft fur.
“She looks like a cat goddess, doesn’t she?” Skjöld chuckled, hugging Úlvhild and glimpsing Haldor at work cleaning rabbit skins.
Haldor laid the white fur pelts on a rack to dry, rinsed his knife in a small bowl of melted snow, and wiped it dry with a cloth before sheathing it at his waist. He washed the blood off his hands, emptied the wooden bowl, wiping it clean with fresh snow, and set it upside down near the pelts. Drying his hands on a clean cloth, he strode across the snow-covered clearing, a wide grin on his scarred, bearded face.
“We’ve brought the last load of supplies,” Skjöld said, as Haldor wrapped a brawny arm around his neck and pulled him into a fierce bear hug. He grinned, heartened to see the joy inHaldor’s dark eyes where sorrow and concern had long taken root. “TheBlóðsmiðrwill make the next few trips while Skadi and I are away. We’re heading to Étretat this afternoon.”
“For our winter solstice wedding.” Skadi hooked her arm through Skjöld’s and pressed the side of her beautiful face against the white fur of his bearskin cloak. Her smile was as radiant as the sun.
“Come inside,” Úlvhild beckoned, “The haddock stew is ready.”
After Skjöld, Skadi, and Haldor unloaded the supplies and stacked the firewood, they hung their cloaks on hooks near the mouth of the cave and settled onto soft furs around the fire. The crisp, clean scent of juniper wafted in swirls of fragrant smoke.
As Úlvhild served them each a bowl of haddock stew—the enticing aroma of wild garlic, crushed herbs, and carrots making his belly growl like a famished bear— Skjöld spotted the Dwarven wedding ring on her finger. The golden band etched with runes and set with amber that Haldor had shown him in Dvalinn’s cave.
“Freyja’s Eyes.”He whispered in awe, flashing a surprised grin at Haldor. “She finally said yes!” He shot to his feet and swept Úlvhild in his arms, swirling her around with glee. Setting her gently down, he took both of her hands in his and pressed a bristled kiss on her soft skin. “Congratulations. I am overjoyed that you and Haldor are finally wed. After all these years…” He bent down to wrap an arm around Haldor’s neck. “And the goddess has blessed you withFreyja’s Bloom…”
Skjöld dashed tears from his eyes and rumbled with soft laughter. “A trio of healing…a triad of tattoos…and a trinity of children. The sacred number nine.”
“We had a private wedding here in the cave. Just Haldor and me. And the goddess who bound our souls throughseiðr…and blessed us with a daughter.” Úlvhild cradled a protective hand over her lower belly and smiled softly at Skadi. “We’ve named her Freyja, for the goddess who gave her to us.”
Skadi watched as Úlvhild settled down beside Haldor, who wrapped an arm around his new wife and pulled her close. “I hope to bear Skjöld healthy babes, too,” she whispered with hushed wonder. Lovelight glowed in her luminous gaze as she gave him a radiant smile.
Fetching two mugs from his pack and the two wooden cups from the stone shelf at the rear of the cave, Skjöld filled them all with mead from the small barrel he had brought with the supplies. “We must toast to your wedding,” he announced with a grin, handing them each a cup and keeping one for himself. “To Haldor and Úlvhild. May the rest of your lives be filled with joy.”
“And to your winter solstice wedding,” Haldor added, raising his cup and standing. “May you and Skadi be blessed with the same joy that Úlvhild and I share.”
After the clinking of cups and shared bowls of stew, Úlvhild rose and fetched two bundles wrapped in soft grey wool from her wooden trunk beneath the stone shelf. She offered the larger parcel to Skadi and handed the smaller one to Skjöld. “Wedding gifts from Haldor and me,” she exclaimed brightly, golden eyes aglow like the amber gem on her finger. She settled beside Haldor, snuggling under the arm he wrapped around her shoulder.
