His hand curled into a fist, Freki’s distressed cries ringing in his ears.
Jonas wasn’t certain when the decision was made, only that his feet were suddenly striding across the sparring grounds. He threw himself at Horfi. They crashed to the ground, Horfi’s shout of surprise ringing out in the night. But Jonas paid him no heed. There was only his fist cracking into Horfi’s jaw. The warrior’s head snapped to the side, blood and teeth spraying from his mouth.
“Fight like a man?” Jonas snarled. He lifted Horfi’s head by the hair and slammed it into the ground. “Do you feel like amanwhen you pick on those weaker than you?” He slammed it again. “Does it make you feellarge,warrior?” Again, he slammed Horfi’s head into the ground.
The red hazing Jonas’s vision dimmed just a touch, the battle thrill churning through his blood gradually dissipating. Jonas raked the hair from his brow, turning back to Freki, and again, for the hint of a moment, it was Ilías he looked at.
“Are you all right?” Jonas demanded, climbing to his feet.
“F-fine,” stumbled Freki. The young man’s cheekbone was split, his eye swelling shut. But it would have been far worse had Jonas not intervened. The thought made anger flare to life once more in Jonas’s stomach. “If he ever bothers you again, you let me know,” he told the young warrior.
“Is he—” Freki’s eyes were wide as he stared down at Horfi’s prone form.
Jonas glanced at the fallen warrior. Blood pooled beneath the man’s skull, his eyes wide and unseeing.
“Fuck,” muttered Jonas.
A strangled sound broke from Freki, drawing Jonas’s glare. The young warrior took a fearful step back.
“Go back to your quarters,” barked Jonas. “If anyone asks, you saw nothing. I delivered those bruises to your face.” He swallowed, the thought making him nauseous. Jonas’s temples began to throb as he considered the fallout. This warrior was Volund’s tool. There would be consequences for Horfi’s death.
Jonas was dimly aware of Freki turning toward the garrison hall doors. “Go to the healer,” he told the young warrior. “Ask for a poultice of mountain arnica.”
Freki paused at his words. Then without another word, he vanished into the hall.
The throb at Jonas’s temples intensified as he stared at Horfi’s lifeless body. He could have kept walking. Could have gone on with his life. Now he’d risked all he’d been working toward—his standing in this warband; Volund’s approval; perhaps even his relationship with the queen.
And yet, Jonas could not bring himself to regret it. His knuckles were split and aching, his mind in turmoil. And yet, in his heart, Jonas was at peace.
In the deepest part of himself, Jonas knew that he’d done the right thing.
He gave his head a shake, then returned to his quarters.
Chapter 49
The Western Woods
Hekla woke with mud in her mouth and twigs in her hair. She rolled onto her side and retched up the contents of her stomach, which, apparently, included water, mud, and more water. When there was nothing left to expel, she struggled to a sitting position.
“Fuck,” muttered Hekla. She braced herself against bent knees and stared at the empty sleeve where her prosthetic arm ought to be. Her insides wrenched at the realization that it had come off. Teeth clattering with cold, she scanned her surroundings for any sign of her arm—wet, muddy riverbank beneath her; lazy river meandering beside her; the distant crash of the waterfall—
The waterfall. Oh, gods.
“Eyvind!” she shouted, clambering to her feet. Thinking of the monstrous things lurking in the woods, she unsheathed a dagger from her boot.
Silence met her ears.
“Eyvind!” she bellowed even louder, scouring the riverbank for any sign of the warrior. The last thing she remembered was plunging over those falls, but based on their distant sound, she must have drifted some way downstream.
She broke into a run, the soft riverbank impeding her progress.Hekla reached a bend in the river, and the silt thankfully shifted to river stones. And there he was, sprawled on the shore. Eyvind’s face was tilted to the skies, one arm flung out, as though reaching toward her.
“Eyvind,” she gasped, running. As she splashed through a shallow tributary, her foot caught, and the dagger went flying as Hekla fell to her knees. But she was on her feet in an instant, and by Eyvind’s side in another.
Hekla lowered her ear to his lips. A faint puff of air against her skin had her exhaling in relief, but his breaths were shallow and his lips tinged blue. Hekla wrangled her emotions into place, knowing she had to stay calm—had to work quickly. Her gaze fell to the red-slicked river rocks beneath Eyvind, and she examined the warrior for injuries. She discovered a shallow, oozing wound on the side of his temple and a slash into the fleshiest part of his biceps. But when Hekla’s hand reached Eyvind’s side, she gasped.
Blood pulsed from a jagged wound the length of her hand. Bile rose in Hekla’s throat, but she swallowed it back.
“All right.” Hekla knelt back, raking her hand through her hair. “All right. You’re still alive, which means nothing vital was struck.”
