Avina’s shoulders slump with relief.
I killed a man.
Ives is no longer alive because of me. I should drown in guilt and sorrow for my soul. Yet, I feel nothing.
All of her emotions evaporated once the edge of the blade buried into his chest.
Why did I do that? Who have I become?
She wanders through Thrain’s space, noting his extravagant decor on the walls. One tapestry details the entire map of Salt in what appears to be a dazzling silver thread.
Feeling nosier by the minute, she creeps down a side hallway with several spare bedrooms. She peeks into the second one on her left and wonders which room belonged to Sigvid growing up. She cannotfathom the reality that he stood beside her against Ives. A rare warmth spreads throughout her gut.
She pokes her head into the last room on the right, where light from candelabras flickers around a central desk. Scrolls and parchment litter a counter to the side in neatly stacked piles, and a quill set in a vial of near-empty black ink comprise the desk.
Avina quickly glances over her shoulder to ensure she is alone before slipping into the study. Any mention of Thrain brought a heated fury from Sigvid, who insists his brother’s dealings are less than savory.
Even knowing Thrain’s Sacred Stone power, she still grapples with finding him trustworthy. A misplaced notion she is certain Sigvid would enjoy beating out of her. Alone in Thrain’s study, she is encouraged to uncover the truth either way.
Stacked on the side of the desk are ledgers detailing the state of the dry Salt coffers. She notes nothing out of the ordinary and is about to abandon her snooping when she sees a bit of parchment poking through the bottom drawer of his desk as if he had stuffed it away before hurrying out of the room.
She holds her breath as she kneels to the floor. Her fingertips trace the bronze handle before slowly pulling it out, revealing a worn, official document, a tiny wooden box, and a scrap of paper.
She begins with the box.
Inside is an elaborate gold ring with diamonds embedded. She shuts the box quickly and returns it.
The parchment is soft as if someone has crumbled the page frequently. She unfurls the paper and reads:
We have him. It’s your decision.
Avina numbs while questions swirl around her mind like a hurricane. Without thinking, she slides the note into a pocket of her gown.
The last document looks far too familiar for comfort.
Already, Avina suspects this will answer a mystery that has plagued her for nearly thirteen winters. She steadies her breath while reaching out to touch the archived record.
She closes her eyes and inhales softly, focusing on steadying her heart, which threatens to burst from her chest.
I have been waiting for this for almost half my life. Closure on the missing piece of the marriage accord. Why did this never come to pass?
She grips each end of the crumbly parchment. With a bite of her lip, her eyelids fly open, and she drinks in the Marriage Accord.
Instantly, her hand flies to her mouth, stifling a sob.
Embossed under hers and the prince’s name are the colorful seals of the Ridge and Salt Provinces. Along the bottom are the curly signatures of her father, King Ceowald, and the late King Thord. Except, this time, the name of her betrothed is visible along a thin black line.
She reread his name three times in disbelief.
We cannot have lived a life this entangled by fate! Does he know? Did he choose not to marry me? Is that why Father saddled me with Rendel’s abuse? Why does Thrain even have this?
“Avina?” Sigvid’s voice nearly shakes the house, summoning her back to his side.
Her heart nearly stops beating, and she fumbles, leaving the ring box where she found it but stealing her marriage contract with Prince Sigvid Thordsson.
33
SIGVID
