A sense of content settles over the high-strung warrior in the slight upturn of his lips and calm washing behind his eyes. His time away from all of this must have driven him mad.
Observing him unwind reminds her that Sigvid is just a man, not a frightening beast. His agreement to her deal makes her strangely open and at peace with her seemingly hopeless situation.
“Come, someone is in my house, and I need to confirm who.”
He swings open one of the towering double doors to the inside. He relaxes, and a rare and genuine smile twists over his features. Avina finds him quite endearing when his lips pull up in utter happiness.
“Hello, kid. What in the Abyss are you doing here?”
She peeks around his broad shoulders to see a young girl wearing a long-sleeved, oversized knit sweater and trousers that match her vibrant emerald-colored eyes. Her hair is pure chaos of the darkest midnight, curling in every which way but down.
She doesn’t appear shocked to see Prince Sigvid standing in his doorway. She continues loudly munching on a hazelnut cookie, clattering crumbs to the floor.
“You’re late, Uncle Sig.” She mumbles through a mouthful. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Father before you hurled him into the sea.”
“It is good to see you too, kiddo,” He strides into a towering entryway with crossbeam wooden rafters above their heads and nabs a treat off the girl’s plate before ruffling her frizz into more of a mess. “These look great, Thora.”
He munches away, then grabs one and hands it to Avina, who hardly notices the baked treat in her hand as her eyes rove around the space.
A massive stone fireplace dominates the center of the room, with plush chairs, lounges, and couches she had only ever seen in palaces like Pradacia or Astria. They are set in a semicircle around the hearth. The scene conjures the image of somewhere a large family would gather, laughing while they drink cups of hot tea.
A distant fantasy Avina still holds out hope to experience.
She takes a hesitant bite of the cookie and lets out a tiny moan of approval. “This is quite possibly the best treat I have ever had.” Her praise sends the young girl bouncing.
“Did you bring home a wife from the Arena?” Thora asks as she circles Avina with interest.
She finds the act unsettling but not as unnerving as Thora’s intense stare. The young girl’s eyes seem too focused on her, as if the girl is a predator studying her prey—not unlike Sigvid.
He chokes. “What do you think happened while I - never mind. Thora, meet Avina. She will be staying here.”
“As inQueenAvina?” The way she utters Avina’s title is like a younger version of Sigvid. Her gaze darkens to black, and a knife emerges from nowhere, pressing into Avina’s sternum.
“Excuse me!” She leaps away, swatting at Thora’s hand with an offended expression. Considering that Sigvid attackedherpeople, she grows rather tired of being accused of being the villain.
“When are we cutting her up?” Thora continues to pursue Avina with the knife.
“Whoa there, Killer!” He grabs the knife from her clutches. “We are not hurting her. She is my,” he struggles for an appropriate description that unnerves Avina, “special guest, staying here under my protection.”
“What? Why?” Thora spits. “Because of her, Father is dead, and you went to the Arena. Explain why we are letting her live!” She jabs a finger in Avina’s direction.
“I’m sorry about your father, Thora. Surely you know how war works?” Avina knows she is not necessarily helping the situation, but as much animosity as she has faced in the last two days, she is ready to explode.
Thora looks as if she wants to bite back, yet, ultimately, her shoulders fall. “It’s been hard living alone. Your house has too many animals.” Thora flops into a lounge rather dramatically.
While Sigvid overembellishes how he escaped from the Arena, Avina finally takes advantage of the calm to take in the rest of the area sandwiched between the high A-frame windows.
At one point, this must have been the inn's lobby before he converted it to an enormous central sitting room. In the corner are three huge casks of what, Avina guesses, are filled with mead.
For a man who hates other people, he certainly is set to entertain other people.
Two lovely carved staircases curve up on either side of the front-facing windows. A third set of stairs dips into the darkness of a presumed basement.
His decor style is Salt Warrior—minimalistic, as if he is decorating with insignificant items.
And brown, why is everything brown?
“How long have you been staying here, kid?” Sigvid settles into a black leather chair by the fireplace.
