She focuses on Grim and does not notice Sigvid offering his arm. Blushing, she hesitantly slips her hands through.
When did he become charming?
“Still at the Goat.” Grim shrugs, seemingly unbothered by his current accommodations.
“You should stay at Blackwood,” she interrupts, “there are more than enough rooms.”
Sigvid glowers down at her with the force of a thousand suns. She is confident that the flash in his irises is the deepest warning he has ever given her.
“You live in an old inn.” She hisses.
“People do not dwell alongside me.”
“What am I? Or Thora?”
“That is different. Do not just offer my rooms.”
“Please, Grim,” she ignores his dumb thought process, “stay with us!”
Grim smirks. “I would like that.”
She grins smugly, noting that he sides with her.
Grim nods toward them and then enters the longhouse.
Avina crosses her arms. “You spared his life and broke him out of the Arena to let him live in a tavern?”
Sigvid glares. “I do not like when you use logic against me.”
She enters the longhouse with a smirk. The heat from the fire, bubbling laughter, and the smell of sizzling pork dazzle her senses. They barely step into the warmth when Slode materializes and thrusts drinking horns at them.
“Don’t worry, we dumped the awful mead from the Arena.” Slode chuckles and slides his hands into his trouser pockets. Even his closest friend opted for relaxed attire over armor.
Sigvid guzzles from his horn, “Ahh, Salt mead is the finest on these Endless Shores. My little Queen, you need to tickle your tastebuds withthis.” He nudges her arm, sloshing amber liquid.“Slode, you are a good man for dumping that swill.”
“Thrain is asking about you,” Slode lowers his voice. “There’s some ambassador from Timber here, and he’s making our King uptight.”
Avina falters, and the lip of the horn presses against her mouth as the sweet liquid trickles onto her tongue.
Timber Province ambassador.
She backs away into one of the many longhouse doors for it to open again and for a group of giggling women to shove their way through. Her hand reaches instinctively for the sapphire stone nestled on her chest.
It’s safe. No one can see it.
She is still reeling from Sigvid’s explanation of her role as the Keeper of the Stones. Without a shadow of a doubt, she knows the significance of the Ridge Sacred Stone to herself, her people, and all of Treland. That reassurance spreads throughout her as if she is engulfed in a sea of tranquility.
“What are you doing?” Sigvid seizes her wrists, tugging her back inside. “Who is this ambassador?”
“Lord Ives.” The name is thrown from her mouth as if her body rejects the energy it took to speak it. “He was close friends with Rendel and Samson. He’s here to collect me.”
Samson needs me to become king. How did this issue stalk me to Timber?
Samson must have deduced that Sigvid kidnapped Avina in his escape and sent Ives to Salt to negotiate his kingship. Her hands shake so violently that she slops mead onto the floor.
“I will not allow him to take you,” he whispers. “Avina, look at me,” His hand grips her chin, and she twists her head to meet his gaze. “No one is taking you from Salt.”
She nods, nervously stroking her curls, unable to decide whether she is relieved or terrified by his promise.
