The chant continues, wrenching tears from her. Thora shudders at her side, her sorrow soaking into Avina’s gown.
As the bundle of remains leaves Kar and his children’s arms for the white waves below, she can sense Thora convulsing.
Kar and all of his children stand side by side, overlooking the stormy water with their left arms outstretched. He counts, and on three, they all slice their forearms, their blood an offering to the Briny God to accept Sven’s soul in the Depths.
Of all the funerals she has attended, this tugged on her heartstrings more than any.
A glimpse at Sigvid shows his head up, his jaw firm. He seems unmoved and uncaring, but she is growing to know him better. Sven may not have been an initiated Drengr, but the Lord Commander still considered him one of his men—a second-generation blood oath.
She notices his rigid posture and movements when he expresses condolences to Kar and his family. In moments like this, her twistedrelationship with him is strangling. Her natural, sympathetic nature yearns to comfort him while he remains resolute for everyone else.
“What an eerie ceremony.” Grim leans down with his hands gripped behind his back.
“Unlike any I have encountered.” She watches Sigvid incline his head to each of Kar’s children.
“He is not a bad leader.” Grim lightly gestures to the graven Lord Commander, who shakes the hands of the extended family.
“Better than the King.” She nods over at his smiling brother, surrounded by young women. Thrain catches her staring and offers a grin, creepily similar to Sigvid, yet lacking honesty.
Grim waves him off as if Thrain is insignificant. “Thrain is a mask in the form of a man. He will always appear to be how he needs to accomplish his sick goals. No one can guess his thoughts or inclinations.”
“Not unlike his brother.” She scoffs, still holding Thora, whose emotions have reduced to a sniffle.
Grim smirks. “You, of all people, should know Sigvid is far from subtle.”
“Sometimes, I don’t think he wants me to know him.”
Grim sighs and she cannot discern if it’s frustration, amusement, or both.
“You know him more than any of us combined. More than his Drengr and certainly more than Thrain.”
Ridiculous.
“He allows you to see a different side of himself. I suspect you bring forth his vulnerability.” He considers her for a moment. “There is a fine line between love and hate, Avina. You have seen more of his raw emotions than anyone else.”
He takes a breath and steps forward, forcing her to look into his dark eyes.
“No one else but you has known his suffering, angst, and, if I might be so bold, his true and unadulterated affection. No matter how dark and obsessive his need for you might be.”
She scoffs even as she twirls a curl nervously. Grim’s words are like forcing her to stare at a vile corpse she knew lay before her yet cannot bring herself to acknowledge.
They each let their guard down before the other, only for circumstance or pride to shove them onward. From his torture session to the Ulv and everything that has happened in between, her connection with Sigvid is the closest she has ever felt to another human being outside of Bertie. Then, there are their wickedly sinful adventures, leaving her shaken with pleasure and pain.
“He might be an ass, but in the short time I have known him, I have watched him do more in your name than anyone else's. He can deny and justify all he wants, but that bastard holds you in some high regard.”
Avina is left speechless as Grim gives her a look that screams, ‘I know I am right,’ and blends into the crowd, leaving her and Thora alone.
“My people!” Thrain waves his arms, drawing attention to himself. “In honor of our departed brothers and my own brother’s safe return, a feast will be held in the longhouse at dusk.”
“Come on, Thora. Let’s get you to the carriage.” Avina guides the girl toward the stretch of horses and carriages along the field.
They are not far from Blackwood Inn. Had it not been snowing, they could have just as quickly walked home.
“For what it’s worth,” Thora wipes her nose with her sleeve, “Uncle Sig doesn’t actually like anyone except for his animals, me, and maybe Uncle Slode.”
Avina smiles at her, her chest squirming with amusement. “I should take comfort in the fact that he hates everyone?”
“Yes.” She nods enthusiastically. “He brought you here,” she holds up one finger, “killed one of his men to protect you,” holds up another, “saved you from drowning, and lets you sleep in his bed.” Thora shrugs, holding up four fingers. “I would be happy to have you as my Aunt Avina, although I like the ring of Aunt V.”
