Eyvind’s hand slid over her thigh, squeezing once more, and Hekla turned toward him, blinking as slowly as she could.
“Your recovery,” she drawled, “has been miraculous.”
A cocky grin spread across Eyvind’s face, and despite her good senses, Hekla’s insides frolicked at the sight. “You healed me with your divine beaut—”
Hekla’s boot came down on Eyvind’s foot before he could say more. “You spend too much time with Thrand Long Sword.”
Eyvind chuckled, but their bantering was cut short as the double oak doors to the council chambers swung inward. Everyone stood as Silla flounced in. She was clad in a vibrant emerald dress, golden embroidery glinting in the torchlight, though Hekla’s lips curved into a smile as she noted the battle belt strapped at her friend’s hips. Beside her, Rey strode in, his gaze scraping over every inch of the room. Ever on alert, Axe Eyes was, but Hekla had never seen him more protective than when Silla was by his side.
Next came Saga Volsik, her blond hair a soft contrast against the black gown she wore. Hekla’s gaze landed on the back of Saga’s hand, tapping against her husband’s arm in an even rhythm. Hekla scowled at the burn marks she found—snarling bears branded onto the backs of Saga’s hands. A pitiful, insecure man had done this, Hekla knew in an instant, and she made plans to discover the culprit’s identity.
Saga’s husband was certainly a fine-looking warrior, and their entry was met with applause. Days now, Saga had been holed up in her chambers with Silla as the sisters got to know each other. But her absence had caused whispers to float through the fortress—some claiming that Saga was not real, that she was only a ploy to unite the north.
Hekla couldn’t help but smile at the adoration written plainly on Silla’s face as she and her sister took their seats at the head of the table. Cupbearers swirled into the room with jugs of ale.
“Let us raise our cups,” said Silla brightly, “to the return of the Volsik heir. Daughter of King Kjartan and Queen Svalla, sister of Silla—”
Saga cleared her throat and sent her sister a look that seemed to say,On with it.
“Let us raise our cups to my sister!” said Silla. The room did just that. Cups and goblets were raised, the joy of Saga’s return so great it was felt in the air. And then they drank.
Silla grimaced as she took a sip, then set her cup down and faced the room. “As you’ve heard,” she said, voice rising above the chatter, “thanks to the brave warriors who joined in our cause, we were successful in the heartwood. The leech was defeated, the infected tree destroyed, and the deep roots in the grove have been fortified by the Forest Maiden. We will continue to monitor the hjarta trees, but with the Forest Maiden’s bolstering magic, it is unlikely that another leech should be able to enter through their deep roots.”
Silla’s hand went to her chest. “My mother’s bargain with Myrkur was broken.” She looked to her sister. “And the most unexpected gift has been granted us. Not only has Saga returned to Íseldur, but she’s brought someone with her.”
Silla gestured to the green-eyed man, but before she could say more, Saga pushed to her feet. Silla blinked, then sat down, her expression faltering for just a second.
“Allow me to present to you my husband,” said Saga. Her voice was slightly deeper, and perhaps a little more stern than Silla’s. “Meet Kassandr Rurik, heir to the throne of Zagadka.”
Whispers rippled through the room, curiosity brightening the jarls’ eyes.
“As you know,” continued Saga, “King Ivar’s fleet sailed to Zagadka and lay siege to the city of Kovograd. He succeeded in nothing but uniting the Zagadkians against him. Now we’ve brought a large warband to Íseldur, along with a cavalry of winged horses and two boatloads of grain.”
At first, there was silence and stunned disbelief. But as Kassandr Rurik nodded in agreement, those present seemed to finally understand. Support. Swords. An airborne cavalry. Still, it was perhaps the mention of grain that drew the cries of relief around the table.
“This aid comes from Zagadka with a request,” Saga continued over the chatter. “Together, we turn our sights on Sunnavík.”
Saga glanced at her sister, and Silla’s expression held a momentof doubt as she slowly rose to her feet. Silla cleared her throat, then spoke to those present.
“Queen Signe has schemes beyond those of her husband. She’s rounded up and experimented on the Galdra; has set Lady Tala against me. And I believe she gathers forces at a place called Rökksgarde.” Silla paused, her brows furrowing. “When we went to draw answers from Tala, we found her dead in her prison cell. Her corpse”—Silla’s nose wrinkled—“was swarming with wasps. This must be Signe’s doing.”
Saga’s gaze hardened as she picked up the thread. “Too long,” she said, “have Signe and Ivar sat on their stolen thrones. Too long have they persecuted our people for the gods they worship. For being born with galdur flowing in their veins.
“It is time,” concluded Saga, “that we take back our kingdom.”
A cheer rose up, jarls standing and bashing their fists on the feasting table. The energy in the room was palpable, impossible to resist. Soon Hekla was on her feet, hooting her agreement.
Silla raised a hand, and the room gradually quieted. “But we have much to accomplish, and many hurdles before us. Though we’ve won some small victories against the god of chaos, there is more for us to do. We must find the place called Rökksgarde and discover Myrkur’s plans. We must keep vigilant, and we must, under all circumstances, ready ourselves for the very real possibility of Rökkur.
“Once, long ago, our ancestors sheltered in the caves behind Ashfall. I propose that we ready them, should we need them once more.” Silla’s gaze slid to Eyvind’s older brother. “Atli Hakonsson has agreed to take on this enormous task.” Saga’s expression seemed to sharpen as she glanced between Atli and her younger sister, and Hekla had an inkling that she hadn’t been privy to this part of the plan.
“We must gather our troops,” Saga cut in. “We must assemble our allies. Surely there are jarls to the south who’d join our cause?” Saga looked around the table, her gaze lingering on each man in turn. “I’ll need you to contact your allies and friends. We’ll need every warrior willing and able to have a chance at defeating theUrkans. Already, Ivar’s father’s fleet has sailed from Norvaland, and they shall arrive any day. We’ll need to be cunning if we wish to defeat them, but it is more than mere cunning we’ll need.”
Those at the table nodded in agreement, their gazes turning to Silla as she picked up where her sister had left off.
“The Urkans believe in individual glory,” said Silla. “They believe a hero is the one who spills the most blood on the battlefield. I am ready to dispel such thoughts among our warbands—to prove that unity is a far greater weapon. Were it not for my sister’s bravery, I’d have fallen to Myrkur in the Western Woods. Were it not for Hekla’s teachings, I’d not have escaped the Klaernar. Were it not for Rey, I’d have died at least a hundred times by now.”
Pride welled in Hekla’s chest. Not pride at being mentioned, but pride that she’d done something—left a mark on this world.
