“Cover Hakonsson’s back,” she grunted to Thrand, driving her sword into a grimwolf. “Let me into the ring,” she shouted to Eyvind. “The moment the mist’s attention is diverted, order a retreat. And once they’re gone, Eyvind, you must push the full force of your magic onto the dais.”
“Hekla, no?—”
“There are ten casks of pitch ready to vaporize this gods-damned mist. The moment the dais catches, you turn and flee, Eyvind. Promise me that.”
“No,” grunted Eyvind. “You’ll die.”
A sudden wave of tenderness crashed through her, and Hekla couldn’t help but smile. “Don’t worry for me, Foxie. The lynx, after all, is a cat.” She edged around him, ducking under the inferno surging from his palms. “Which means we have nine lives.”
“Don’t you?—”
“I’m jumping into that ring whether you pause your fire or not, Hakonsson. I’d prefer not to char before facing the mist, but it is your choice!”
Angry, desperate words spewed from Eyvind. “You maddening, stubborn, irrational woman?—”
She cut him off with a warm, firm kiss. Hekla didn’t care that his men might see her. Didn’t care what they might think. For a fraction of a heartbeat, she was back on that riverbank, opening herself to a man for the first time in years. And in this kiss, she let him see it all—the girl she’d once been, the one who still lived deep inside this toughened warrior. The one who’d come out, if only for a night.
Hekla had to force herself to pull back. “Thank you,” she whispered for only Eyvind to hear, “for reminding me of who I am.” She allowed herself to stare into those hazel eyes, now wild with anger, with fear, with utter despair.
And then she was turning to the wall of flames, time slowing as she drew a deep breath. And before doubt could creep in, Hekla hurled herself into the inferno. Without a heartbeat to spare, Eyvind’s fire extinguished, a gap forming in the wall of flames. She landed on the balls of her feet and glanced over her shoulder. An incredulous laugh fell from her lips. Eyvind had reignited his fiery jets, encasing her within the mist’s blazing prison.
Hekla rose to her feet, and turned to face the churning, undulating mass of white.
She smiled. Blew it a kiss. “Hello, dúlla. You want me? Well, here I am.”
The air rattled with the mist’s anger, the smoke and pungent reek of charred corpses choking her lungs. Beyond the wall of flames, there was some sort of commotion, but Hekla did not dare take her eyes off the mist.
“You meddlesome mortal!” raged the mist through its draugur. “We will consume you!”
“Mmm hmm. You said that already.”
The mist turned into a storm of anger, causing Hekla to retreat a step. Yet she felt its attention upon her, and hoped it was enough of a diversion to allow Eyvind to set those barrels alight. The blisteringheat of the wall of flames at her back blocked her further retreat. The mist undulated with glee, advancing upon her.
This was it.
“Down!” came the cry, not a moment before a solid mass crashed into Hekla.
Darkness engulfed her.
And the world erupted.
TWENTY-TWO
The thunder was no slow rolling wave building in increments, but destruction striking upon her with sudden force. The ground shook with its impact, the air scorching like the heat of a thousand suns. It was blistering agony so hot that Hekla thought she’d melt.
Beyond the darkness came a scream of anguish. The mist’s heavy presence in the air fragmented, lessening with each passing second...
Hekla screamed, too, sizzling as though she bathed in the thick orange lifeblood of a fire mountain. Writhing, she pleaded with the gods to grant her the mercy of death. The air she gasped in seared her lungs, while the blood in her veins boiled. Each torturous heartbeat bled into the next, making Hekla want to claw out of her skin. But then the heat abated, just a touch, then a little less. And then it rolled right over her, leaving her gasping in darkness.
Was she dead? Was this the darkness of a night sky? Would she follow the Mother Star to her final resting place amongst her ancestors?
But then something moved above her.Someonemoved.
And suddenly, Hekla understood what the smothering darknesswas, or, she should say,whoit was. Eyvind gods-damned Hakonsson had thrown himself over her. Had somehow kept her from roasting to a crisp.
“Eyvind?” She gasped, rolling him gently off her and onto his back.
His low groan had her exhaling in relief. He was alive, thank the gods above. But how? Fires raged all around them—on the dais, the pillars, the turfed roofs surrounding the square. Hekla’s gaze roamed over him as she tried to understand. His hair was singed, and there were patches of burnt skin on his beautiful face, but the red cloak she hated so much was perfectly untouched.
