She held Íssla’s radiant, regal gaze. “I never knew my ownmoðir,” Elfi said softly, her voice frail and fragile. “But I am so very glad to know Njörd’s.” She wrapped her arms around Íssla and kissed the luminous cheek of the beautifulLjósálfarqueen.
“A trio of winter solstice brides. All clad in shimmery silk.” Bright blue eyes brimming with joyful tears, Íssla embraced Elfi, rested a royal hand on Sif’s slim shoulder, and graced Skadi with a starlit smile. “Now we wait for the men whose hearts you hold.”
A sudden, loud knock made all three brides jump. They exchanged excited glances and nervous laughter as they rose from their chairs. But to their mutual surprise, when Oda opened the heavy oak door, Skårde and Thorfinn waited in the hallway, each bearing a gleaming sword, and Bjarke stood at Thorfinn’s side. Oda ushered them in with a knowing smile.
Skårde strode into the room, smiling warmly at Ylva and Vivi as he slowly approached Skadi, the magnificent sword laid across hisflat palms. Clad in his heraldic emerald and silver, glittering gems and beads braided into his long blond hair and gold-streaked beard, the Count of thePays de Cauxstill bore the formidable strength and rugged bearing of the Viking once hailed as theDragon of Denmark. His deep voice echoed off the wooden walls of the silent chamber.
“Your honorablefaðir,the legendary frost giant Skallagrímr, was slain defending you from theDökkálfarwho stole you from him.” Paternal pride blazed in Skårde’s warrior gaze.
“Since he cannot offer you his own blade for the ritual exchange, I would be honored to present this heirloom sword in his stead for your wedding tonight to my son.Bláhjarta—Blueheart—once belonged to my ownfaðir, King Harald Bluetooth of Denmark and Norway.”
He extended his arms, palms flat, offering Skadi the gleaming blade. “Tie Skjöld’s ring to the hilt with this silver ribbon,” he said, handing her the shimmering strand. “I will stand at your side during the ceremony, holdingBláhjartaas yourfaðirwould have, until the time comes to exchange your vows.”
Silver strands glinting in his golden hair, emerald gems glittering in his braided beard, Skårde bent to kiss her tear-streaked cheek. “You are my son’ssoulboundmate. Tonight, you become his wife… and my beloved daughter.”
Skadi accepted the sword and silver ribbon, the slenderkransengifted from Ylva glinting on her bowed blonde head. Her hushed whisper was laced with reverent wonder. “I am deeply honored to acceptBláhjarta, Lord Skårde. Myfaðirsmiles proudly from Valhalla. Words cannot convey my profound gratitude. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”
Elfi watched her belovedfaðirapproach Sif, his bearded lips trembling with emotion as he offered her the sword laid across his own outstretched arms. “YourfaðirEysteinn died defending this castle just before you were born. And when my wife Dúva died giving birth to Elfi, yourmoðirwas the wetnurse who helped me raise my motherlessdóttir.” He smiled softly at Vilde, tears welling in his dark brown eyes. “This sword was my first—as a young warrior in service to Jarl Rikard.” He extended theimpressive blade to Sif. “I offerBjargvörðr,the Cliff Guardian, in the name of your fallenfaðir. To you, Sif, whom I love as my owndóttir.”
Thorfinn signaled Bjarke to approach. “As First Knight ofChâteau Blanc, and my son’s closest friend, Bjarke will presentBjargvörðrto you, while I offer Dag’s sword to Elfi, for the exchange of vows and rings.”
While Skadi and Sif tied the grooms’ wedding bands with silver ribbons to the hilt of the gifted swords, Elfi retrievedShadowbanefrom the wall of her private chamber.
As she gripped herbroðir’svery first sword—the weapon he had used to train her—Elfi recalled its original name in the Old Norse tongue.
Dökkarbani. Bane of shadows and darkness.
The heirloom sword with which she had avenged Dag’s death by slaying the Count of Soissons. And banished his darkness from their castle.
Silk gown swishing as she swept across the polished floor, Elfi rejoined Sif and Skadi, tied Njörd’s ring to the hilt of the beloved blade, and placed it in herfaðir’shands for the ritual exchange of swords.
“Ulvhild crafted this for you? It’s exquisite!” Ylva helped Skadi into the silvery blue fox fur cloak and fastened it with a moonstone brooch. “The ice blue sheen matches the silk of your wedding gown. You are a most beautiful bride.” She kissed Skadi’s cheek, a shimmer of tears in her smiling eyes. “I am so thankful that Úlvhild is well. And that Freyja blessed her with Haldor’s babe. A daughter, named after the goddess.”
As herammasecured the white ermine cloak over her deep blue silk wedding gown, Elfi exclaimed, “And she and Haldor are finally wed—after nearly twenty winters! I cannot wait to see them both in the spring.”
Vilde helped Sif don her new marten cloak lined with fine wool, a generous gift from Thorfinn. The rich, deep brown fur shone in the firelight,the perfect complement to Sif’s amethyst gown.
“Come, wondrous winter solstice brides,” Thorfinn said with a proud smile. “It’s time for the ceremony to begin.”
Chapter 39
Winter Solstice Weddings
Waves crashed against the cliffs far below, moonlight dancing off the white-capped waves, as Elfi’s father escorted her out of the castle and into the starlit night.
The bonfire crackled, sending sparks soaring, the salty tang of the sea mingling with the crisp pine of juniper and the resinous aroma of the dense forest nearby. Soft white snow blanketed the meadow and draped the dark green pines, as if Frigg herself had woven a winter solstice wedding veil forle Château Blanc.
Elfi admired the trio of ferally handsome grooms draped in magnificent fur cloaks, gleaming swords at their sinewy hips, the brides’ rings bound to hilts with silver cords that shimmered like frost. The twoÚlfhéðnarwore their wolfskin cloaks—Njörd in sacred white, Bodo in deep, rich brown—while Skjöld was wrapped in thick white bearskin.
King Sweyn Forkbeard stood near Skårde and Skjöld, clad in a majestic blue cloak lined with white ermine. Intricate silver embroidery traced waves along the hem—a symbol of Sweyn’s royal lineage to Harald Bluetooth, Viking king of sea and snow. Atop his braided blond hair rested a narrow silver circlet, its sculpted dragons and elaborate knotwork catching the firelight with a pale gleam. As Elfi noticed Tryggvi standing beside Sweyn — his elegant cloak the same royal blue as his king’s — she marveled at the quiet symmetry: two younger brothers, each flanking the elder he had followed into war and now into ceremony. Sweyn stood beside Skårde, and Tryggvi near Skjöld.
Jarl Rikard, magnificent in his elegant scarlet cloak, stood proudly with his wife Gunnor, her velvet gown the same deep red hue as his robe, her white ermine cloak matching the trim whichedged her ducal husband’s long cape. Atop each of their regal heads, a slender circlet glittered in the moonglow and firelight.
Lugh, in dark emerald green, ushered a luminous Queen Íssla to stand near the center of the gathered guests, behind her son Njörd, who awaited Elfi. Nearby, Luna and Njáll made a sublime pair, with his black wolfskin cloak and her moonstone white gown and mantle of silver.
The trio of father figures escorted the brides to their respective grooms, each remaining at her side, arms extended with the heirloom sword bearing the attached wedding rings. Together, they formed a half circle around thegoði,who stood near the roaring bonfire, ready for the ceremony to begin.
Clad in a green cloak lined with dark fur, the pagan Viking priestwore an antler headpiece strewn with feathers, bones, and glittering beads. His weathered face was painted white with chalk, marked with black runes of charcoal above his waist-length grey beard. In his bare hands, he clutched a sacred ash twig to anoint the couples and guests, and a silver bowl filled with blood from the sacrificial boars—their roasted meat now carved and carried by castle servants to trestle tables in the elaborately decorated Great Hall.
