Halldora’s dark eyes had brimmed with tears at the gesture, and Hekla had been unable to reveal it was what she’d once wished someone would do for her. It was more than coins. It was more than escape. It was acknowledgment.I see you,the bag said.I understand.Hekla wished she could do more—wished she could make true change in this kingdom to better the lives of women.
For now, she had to content herself with observing the fighting matches in Istré’s town square, and gods, but they were difficult to watch. Alf the Slender succumbed to the sheer girth of Onund Ale Drinker, and he to the vice-like grip of Istré’s blacksmith. Their fighting was messy and uncoordinated, any skill they might possess muddled by the vast quantities of ale they’d consumed. Hekla’s limbs itched to leap into the ring, to show them how a true warrior fought. And perhaps she selfishly wanted to dispel Loftur of any preconceived notions he had of women in the fighting ring. ButHekla restrained herself. Betraying Loftur’s orders would not win the man’s favor. And so she reached for another horn of ale and downed it swiftly.
The blacksmith ambled from the ring, tipping a splash of his drink into the brazier’s flames. Many of the locals had boldly made similar offerings—bits of chicken and beef, crudely carved weapons, and ale. Memory told Hekla such offerings were tailored to the old god Sunnvald’s preferences, which had her scanning the crowd for tattooed faces. Should the King’s Claws see such overt devotion to the old gods, Hekla suspected the monstrous mist would be the least of Istré’s worries.
A new brawl was set to begin, the blacksmith against?—
—a stranger.
Annoyance jostled through Hekla. To enter the tournament, one needed Loftur’s approval. How had this newcomer gained entry into the games, when she, who’d been trying forweeksto gain the blockhead’s trust, was denied?
Hekla ground her teeth together, examining the stranger. Light from the brazier illuminated the man’s pompous red cloak and cutting olive cheekbones. Some women might swoon over a pretty face like that, but Hekla liked a little grit to her men. To her surprise, as the stranger stepped into the fighting ring, she could tell each step was laced with power.
As the brawl began, Hekla could immediately tell the mysterious warrior held himself back. He let the blacksmith tackle him to the ground. Allowed him to land a few blows before rolling the blacksmith onto his stomach and wrapping an arm around his neck. The blacksmith pounded the ground, granting victory to the stranger, and the crowd roared. That was the precise moment that ale sloshed from her neighbor’s cup right down the collar of Hekla’s lébrynja jacket.
She’d officially seen enough.
Scowling, Hekla retreated from the festivities, the crowd’s cheers chasing her through the darkened streets of Istré.
The night wasclear and dark, stars spattered across the skies as Hekla laid a blanket down on the riverbank. Entering through barred culverts under Istré’s defensive walls, the river snaked right through the town. This particular curve in the river was favored by locals for bathing, but given that every citizen was now gathered in the square, Hekla had it all to herself.
For a moment, she simply sat on the blanket, letting the quiet of the night surround her. But soon the thoughts slunk out like wolves from the darkness. Why did Loftur block her every move? How could she convince him to workwithher, rather than against her? Was it simply that she was a woman, or was there more to it?
Her questions shifted to irritation, and Hekla began to argue with the chieftain inside her head, trying to force logic into his thick skull. How could he expect the Bloodaxe Crew to defeat the deadly mist without being allowed to enter the woods, and why did he hold these infernal celebrations despite the ever-present threat? But even inside her mind, Loftur was as immovable as a mountain; no matter what she said or did, Hekla could not seem to get through to him. The man’s refusal to listen was maddening!
The spilled ale on her neck was suddenly unbearable. Hekla shot to her feet and yanked off her lébrynja jacket. After tossing it on the riverbank, she moved to pull off her undertunic.
A twig snapped behind her.
Years of training had her drawing her blade without a heartbeat’s hesitation. Hekla held still as death, eyes surveying the shadowed brush for any sign of movement. And after a moment, there it was.
Therehewas.
The stranger’s red cloak drifted behind him as he ambled out of the bushes and onto the riverbank.
“This bank is taken,” said Hekla, the point of her sword angled toward him. “Find another one, warrior.”
Emotions played across his face—shock, then amusement, before settling into a look of haughty indignation.
“I think not,” he said, strolling past her sword point, completely unbothered.
A week’s worth of Loftur’s disregard caught up to Hekla in a rush. It was one man too many brushing her aside when she could gut him like a fish. With a growl, Hekla charged after the man. Grabbing his shoulder, she whirled him around. Her sword tip now dimpled the tender skin of his throat.
“I said find another riverbank.”
“And I,” said the man, “declined.”
She saw his tell—the flare of his pupils—but his speed caught her by surprise. As her sword was knocked aside, Hekla knew she was right. The manhadbeen holding back in Istré’s fighting ring. But her opponent did not know that Hekla had surprises of her own. She ducked, throwing her shoulder into his abdomen. His softooffilled her with satisfaction as momentum carried the pair of them back toward a prickly willow bush.
Somehow, the warrior diverted their course, bringing them down on the soft riverbank instead. In a dizzying move, he twisted until Hekla’s back hit the sand.
“And here I thought Istré would be dull,” drawled the warrior from where he straddled her hips. “The first night and already I’ve a vixen beneath me.”
“I’m no vixen, you braying ass,” she spat. “Best you learn that.”
Hekla brought her head crashing forward. The warrior reeled back in time to avoid a broken nose, but his distraction was enough for Hekla to wrench them sideways, rolling until the man was pinned beneath her.
Moonlight slanted across his tanned skin, and Hekla finally got a look at the man’s eyes.
