Except she is closer.
“I can kill you now or at the gates of Timber.” Ives whispers in her ear. “Either way, Duke Samson wants your thick head on a silver platter. Once he discovered who you did in the Arena, I fear that sealed your fate, Majesty. You are nothing but a weak, fat whore.”
“Ah!” Avina feels the familiar trickle over her skin as the invisibility settles.
Ignoring the growth of her ability, she sinks the ebony blade into his shin. While he yowls, Avina dives away, only to flip around and see him on his back, tugging at the blackwood shaft. She kneels over him and punches him in the nose.
His hands flounder while she removes the ebony edge and embeds it in his chest.
Once, twice, five times.
For good measure, she screams and lets the blade fall from her grasp, splitting his face open.
Blood splatters her crimson dress.
She is hardly aware.
Her eyes stare unblinkingly at Ives’ still body. She expects screams or chaos. Instead, unnerving silence meets the murder of the Timber diplomat.
You have accepted your role, Keeper.That voice again. It must be the Goddess.The sacrifice for your seidr is complete. You restored the gifts of the Keeper and Guardian in Treland.
Avina shakes her head. She must be going insane.
“Avina.” There is apprehension wavering on the edge of her name.
“Queen Avina?” This time, she turns around to see the Thordsson brothers searching for her as if she vanished.
She lifts her arm, clutching the axe, and gasps. Her arm and the weapon are cast in a shimmery glow.
She has become invisible.
The Sacred Stone!
My Keeper abilities reacted to preserve the sapphire.
She focuses on releasing herseidr, and the invisibility rolls off her skin, much like stepping wet into the wind.
“Get her out of here, Sig!” Thrain yells. “I’ll deal with this.”
Murmuring fills the longhouse like a thick hive of buzzing.
Sigvid gently removes his axe from her hand, sliding it back into his belt loop. “I am proud of that kill, my little Queen,” he drops his voice, “Go to Thrain’s house. I will find you there.”
The gapes of the other partygoers follow her out one of the many doors and into the frigid coastal air. Thankfully, the night air is far less stifling than inside around that hearth. The icy wind slaps against her sweltering cheeks, and she makes no moves to shield herself.
She follows the alley until she ends on the street and enters Thrain’s house.
I just killed a man.
She committed a crime. She could be hung for her offense back in Timber!
Luckily, no one seems to be inside Thrain’s home.As she steps further into the heart of the house, the warmth of his crackling hearth bathes the entryway in immediate comfort.
The oppressive smell of pine fills the space, unlike Sigvid’s lodge, which bears the scent of his musk and crawling under a cozy blanket with a steaming mug of hot honey tea.
“Hello?” She announces herself, wondering if she will encounter one of his servants or one of the many bedfellows Sigvid claimed he kept.
No answer.
