“Wecannotwait, Signe. The Zagadkian scum tried to assassinate me—”
“You do not know it was them,” Signe interjected.
Ivar took a menacing step forward. “Do not interrupt me, wife.”
Signe clamped her mouth shut, berating herself for reacting, as Ivar would say,emotionally.But when it came to her children, she’d always struggled to hold her tongue.
“You worry for Bjorn, that much is clear,” said Ivar, coldly. “Do you not know your worry weakens him in his men’s eyes? He must see battle, Signe. Must sharpen his skills. Yes, this is happening sooner than we’d anticipated—”
“It is foolhardy!” The words burst from her before Signe could stop them.
Ivar’s hand lashed out, slapping her hard across the face. Her vision exploded with white, burning pain, and Signe stumbled back, clutching her cheek. Ivar tossed his wine back in a solitary gulp, leveling a hard look at her.
“I warned you not to interrupt me, wife.”
Signe forced her lips together. Swallowed the vile words trying to push up her throat.
“We sail two weeks from today. When my father’s fleet arrives, they will join us. But I do not think we shall need them at all.” Ivar’s gaze grew distant and hungry. “We have some…battle innovations we are eager to use.”
Signe’s anger had grown to a living, breathing thing, and it took every ounce of her will not to release it on her husband. Instead, she focused it on the one person she despised above all others.
“I ask only one thing of you, husband.” A deep breath eased her raging heart. Signe straightened her spine. Faced the beast of a man before her unflinchingly. “Bring Saga Volsik to me. Alive.”
Ivar raised a quizzical brow.
Signe answered him with a queenly smile.
“I want to watch as the light fades from her eyes.”
Part 1
Seeds
When ill seed has been sown, so an ill crop will spring from it.
—Njál’s Saga
Chapter 1
Kopa, Íseldur
One week afterKingdom of Claw
A bead of sweat trickled down Silla’s brow as she stood before the largest pair of doors she’d ever seen—as tall as three warriors stacked up. Knotwork was carved into thick oak planks that were secured on enormous iron hinges. If the doors were this massive, she wondered how big the council room beyond them would be.
Silla blotted her forehead with the sleeve of her dress, then paused. WouldEisa Volsikwipe sweat on her sleeve? She could not recall discussing how a queen was to deal with such things during her daily etiquette lessons. More likely, a queen did not sweat at all. But bother that, Silla was melting. The secret council room used for Uppreisna gatherings was deep beneath Ashfall Fortress. And given that the fortress was built into a slumbering fire mountain, it was sweltering.
She glanced over her shoulder at Rey. Half a head taller than Runný and her other queensguard, Rey was rather hard to miss. Torchlight caught on his tight black curls and gave his brown cheekbones a bronzed glow. But as her gaze slid to his tunic—a shade so red, the wordviolentcame to mind—laughter escaped through Silla’s nose in a decidedly unqueenly sound.
“Quiet, woman,” grumbled Rey, folding his arms and looking away.
Jarl Hakon had insisted that, in his second son Eyvind’s absence, Rey must wear House Hakon’s colors and take a seat of honor with his family. Though Rey had protested valiantly, the jarl had won out in the end.
“You look so…festive,” Silla teased, glad for a distraction from her frayed nerves.
“I look like a rowan berry.” Those gold-flecked eyes landed on her, sliding down her body like the softest silk. “And you,” he said in a low voice, “look like a goddess.”
Silla was certain she flushed right down to her toes. “I feel…strange. Unlike myself.” She looked at her gown. Beautiful it was—sumptuous emerald silks contrasted with stunning embroidery and elegantly draped cuffs that reached to the floor. This was the kind of garment Eisa Volsik wore. ButSillacouldn’t shake her disappointment—there were no pockets!—nor could she keep herself from wondering how many mouths the sales proceeds would feed.
