“To Bodo, theÚlfhéðnarwho trained Njörd and helped him reclaim the Dwarven sword…and his bride, Sif, a newly freed thrall whom I love like adóttir.Skál!”
He raised his ornate elkhorn high once more, voice ringing through the hall. “To the trinity of couples joined this winter solstice wedding night—may they love with the loyalty of wolves and burn with the fire of dragons!”
His proud gaze swept over the gathered guests as he boomed with a beaming grin. “Now, let the feast begin!”
Chapter 40
Monarchs, Majesty, and Moonlight
The salted boar was dripping with sweet honey, and the grilled haddock was perfectly seasoned with fresh herbs. Skjöld cracked open another clam, dipped it in melted butter, and slipped it onto Skadi’s tempting pink tongue.Odin’s eye, I cannot wait to dance with her beneath the stars…and make love to her for the first time as my wife.
The silver fox fur shimmered in the firelight, the same icy hue as her pale blue eyes. “You are a goddess,” he whispered, kissing the pearlescent skin of her soft cheek. “And I thank all the gods you are mine.”
Jarl Rikard’s deep voice interrupted Skjöld’s sensual reverie. “I am relieved to hear that Úlvhild has recovered from her critical injury in Ísland. You say that Haldor summoned Freyja to heal her?”
“He did indeed,Áfi,”Skjöld said, leaning slightly forward to address his grandfather. “In the sameDragon’s Leapcave where he summoned her twenty winters ago—when he was the same age I am now.”
“Ah, yes,” Rikard murmured, raising his ornate elkhorn. “When she bestowed his falcon power withFreyja’s Mark.” Jarl Rikard pensively sipped his mead, no doubt recalling the tale of how the goddess had granted Haldor his extraordinary ability to shift into a falcon.
Skjöld eyed his blond brute of an uncle, seated on Lord Thorfinn’s right in the place of highest honor. It had been eight winters since he’d last seen Sweyn, who had been at that time the same age that Skjöld was now. And now, hisfaðir’syounger brother—thelegitimate son of the late King Harald Bluetooth—ruled both Denmark and Norway, a massive and majestic Viking king, crowned by blood and conquest.
“Njörd informs me that Sigurd matched my land offer of the Isle of Sheppey with an equally impressive gift of the Isle of Skye as part of Svanhild’s dowry.” Sweyn twisted his forked blond beard which gave him his eponymous name. He glanced at Tryggvi, seated beside Skjöld, a greedy grin stretching across his scarred, savage face.“With your marriage to Svanhild, you’ll be Jarl of Sheppey and Skye — a stepping stone for me to reclaim lost Norse territories inAengaland… and knock at the door of Æthelred the Unready.” Sweyn raised his intricately carved horn, etched with blackened runes and adorned with amber beads. “We’ll hold a summer solstice wedding for Tryggvi and Svanhild,” he said to Jarl Rikard and Skårde, “at my royal hall inHeiðabýr!”
Skjöld glanced around the festive Great Hall, its tall wooden walls adorned with garlands of ivy woven with whitehelléboreblossoms and mistletoe berries. Elegantly clad guests laughed and shared good cheer, the clatter of knives and the crackle of the roaring fire in the stone hearth mingling with the appetizing aroma of roasted meats and fresh fish. Attendants served the final course of the winter solstice wedding feast, a variety of sumptuous desserts— honey cakes sprinkled with toasted walnuts, apple tarts dusted with cinnamon spice, winter pears poached in honey, and tender figs stuffed with creamy goat cheese and crunchy hazelnuts.
As the sweet taste of fruit and the tang of cheese melted on Skjöld’s appreciative tongue, King Sweyn rose majestically from the seat of honor. Silver crown glinting in the firelight atop his braided blond hair, he proudly proclaimed to the enthralled throng, “Let the presentation of royal gifts begin.”
At the king’s gesture, a Danish warrior clad in a gleaming chain mailbrynjastrode across the polished pinewood floor, a pair of silver armbands laid on a swathe of black velvet reverently held in his outstretched hands.
Sweyn’s deep, sonorous voice reverberated across the Great Hall ofChâteau Blanc. “To BodoWolfbornand his fire-hearted bride Sif, I offer this pair of matching silver bands, coiled in the shape of Fenrir, to honor you asÚlfhéðnarwarriorand his chosen lupine mate.” He nodded to the royal guard, who offered the thick silver armbands, engraved with the image of the legendary wolf, to Bodo and Sif.
Skjöld watched as Bodo fitted the royal band onto Sif’s slender arm, then placed his own torc around his thick, sinewy limb. Gratitude, honor, and pride shone on their beaming faces as they both bowed humbly before the generous king.
Amidst murmurs of appreciation and hearty applause, Sweyn continued the presentation of royal wedding gifts. “To Njörd Ívarrsson,Wolf of the Nordic Seasand his wife Elfi Thorfinnssdóttir, newly namedLa Louve Blanche—I bequeath adrakkarwarship, swift as wind and fierce as wolves. A magnificent vessel unlike any other, she bears the nameSjórúlfr,the Sea Wolf. May her prow bear you into legend—as wolves of wind and sea.”
Elfi and Njörd rose together and bowed before the king. Njörd’s deep voice boomed across the silent hall. “We thank you for this rare and generous offering, King Sweyn. To commandSjórúlfr, a vessel named for us as sea wolves, is a royal wedding gift that Elfi and I shall forever honor.”
As Njörd and Elfi resumed their seats, Skjöld squeezed Skadi’s hand, his heart hammering likeMjöllnirat the realization that his uncle Sweyn would present their wedding gift next. Skadi flashed him a radiant smile, the silverkransenatop her elaborate braids glistening like the wedding band upon her pearlescent finger.
Clad in deep blue and shimmering silver, like the frosty fjords of Denmark and Norway, King Sweyn stood in sublime regal splendor before the hushed hall. He turned his scarred, fork- bearded face toward Skadi and Skjöld. “For my nephew Skjöld, prophesiedSon of the Dragon,
and his brideSkadi,Ljósálfarhealer and wielder offrostfireflame,I bestow two royal gifts. First, thedrakkarlongshipHrímdreki, herfrostdragonprow carved with the image of the bride, her keel kissed by flame. May she carry you swiftly across the nine seas, in a saga of fire and ice.”
Sweyn’s commanding voice rose like waves crashing against the white chalk cliffs below the castle. “And second, I grant you land on the island of Austvågoy, in the wild north of Norway, and with it, the clifftop castle ofHrimborg—the Frost Fortress—where the wind howls like wolves and the sea glows with starlight. Assoulboundmates offrostfireflame, mayHrímborgbe a haven for you both.”
At a subtle gesture from the king, the mail-clad attendant appeared again, the swathe of black velvet draped across his forearms. Resting at its center, gleaming dully in the firelight, lay a single iron key—ornate yet austere, its bow wrought in the shape of outstretchedfrostdragonwings.
“The key toHrímborg,” Sweyn declared, his deep voice echoing through the hall. “May her gates know none but you, and her halls echo your names into skaldic song."
Hand in hand, Skadi and Skjöld rose and bowed before the king. “Your royal wedding endowments are a tremendous honor, Uncle,” Skjöld proudly proclaimed. “A clifftop fortress in Norway and a magnificentfrostdragonship—each a legacy worthy of saga.” He turned to Skadi, lifting her hand to his lips in quiet reverence before facing Sweyn once more. “My bride and I are deeply grateful for your unparalleled generosity.”
When King Sweyn, Skjöld, and Skadi sat down, and the last echoes of Skjöld’s words faded into the firelit hall, a reverent stillness settled over the gathered guests. From her seat at the high table, Queen Íssla rose with elegant grace.
Pale blonde locks like liquid silver, ethereal gown of pure white silk, moonstones in her elegant crown glowing with otherworldly light, the radiantLjósálfarqueen illuminated the entire hall. Her limpid voice flowed like a pure, crystalline spring as she bestowed her royal wedding gifts. To Bodo and Sif, she offered a large moonstone fromÁlfheim, imbued withLjósálfarprotection for their hearth and home. To Skadi and Skjöld, she gave a moonstone cottage on the eastern shore of Lyrian Lake, where they might commemorate their wedding—and celebrate each winter solstice—by gathering frosted starfruit from their very own trees.
“And to my son Njörd and hissjóvættirbride Elfi,” the queen declared, “I offer the clifftop castle ofMiralir—Lyre of the Sea. Built from sacredLjósálfarmoonstone, the luminous castle overlooks the Elandrian Sea.”
Queen Íssla motioned for Elfi to stand.
