Thrain curls his lip in disgust at the man.
Eventually, he composes himself enough to speak. “There were rumors about your affair with the Salt Prince from the Arena. I assured Duke Samson the quiet Avina would never degrade herself with someone like him. Turns out the King is always right.”
“Samson will never be King.” The axe's weight grows more comfortable, and she keeps the edge pointed at Ives. She backs away, forcing all of them to stand at arm’s length.
Sigvid may have saved her life, but his response to her engagement with Samson, with that sickening curl of his lip and upturned nose, says everything.
She is disgusting. A foul whore passed around from man to man seeking a crown to grace their heads.
What if he assumes Samson bedded her? A sour taste fills her mouth at the thought.
She is a foul wretch, a despicable creature to have saddled herself to a man like Samson, even by accident. What brief affection Sigvid may have held for his little Queen is likely gone.
Avina’s hope shatters, realizing the trouble it will cost to keep her around with a man like Samson pounding down the gates of Toftlund. The only consoling factor is that she will soon reunite with Nellie.
Her gaze darts around the room, aware that the entire longhouse is watching the show unfold.
“Did your Salt Prince tell you his province is as poor as the dirt across the floorboards in this dilapidated building?” Ives hops over the table so he is within reach of the blackwood in her grip.
Tell me Samson does not already have access to the Timber gold. Does he plan to bribe me out of Salt?
“Samson sent me one hundred thousand gold coins in exchange for your return. I spoke with King Thrain, who certainly cannot deny that many coins will finance enough food for the entire province through the next year. Plus, rid the city of an unwanted guest in the same stroke.”
Avina’s head spins. Only the pulsating power of the Sacred Stone keeps her knees grounded.
Thrain and Sigvid have every right to exchange her for that amount of coin.
She only exists as the Prince’s whore.
Salt is notoriously impoverished, and she is an enemy prisoner. Their answer is clear. She would choose the same course of action for her people.
The stone’s life force pounds in Avina’s head like the thunder of a sea storm.
Accept your fate, Keeper.That throaty feminine voice from the garden shed whispers in her mind.Harness your might. Strike him down.
“I promise I will leave Salt, but it will not be to return to Timber.” She snarls, taking to heart the command of the mysterious female voice.
“Avina,” Sigvid’s grip on her upper arm is unyielding. She tugs against his hold, but he has her firmly in place. “You are staying here, in Salt, with me. Lord Ives will be leaving either in his carriage or a coffin.”
“Would you look at that? The Beast found a plaything.” Ives cracks his neck. “I guess I did win a lot of bets in the Arena.”
“Lord Ives,” Thrain throws himself over the table and claps him on the shoulder, “I have vintage Ridge wine in my home next door. Let's discuss this in less tense circumstances.”
“You are a good man, Thrain, but I will only leave the room with this woman.”
“I would rather die than return with you!” Avina is now shrieking, quieting the longhouse. Her knuckles whiten on the axe shaft, which she keeps outright as she spins—a bubble of space forms around her body.
“Let’s be clear,” he steps closer to her, “the Council is ready to crown a man in charge of Timber. I can bring you back warm or cold, and no one will bat an eye.”
“Jump into the Abyss, Ives!” She snips.
She glances at an expressionless Thrain standing behind Ives. A stark contrast to Sigvid’s murderous gaze, his other axe ready in hand. Rage fires in his eyes as he spins his axe and stalks toward Ives.
“You are leaving here in a coffin!”
Avina’s chest constricts, witnessing Sigvid’s preparation to protect her to the death. Her momentary distraction is all Lord Ives needs.
She screams when his arm tightens around her shoulders. With a jagged blade pressed against her throat, she freezes, her eyes focused on Sigvid, whose sudden pause is no doubt to search for a weakness in the Timber Lord.
