“Do I have permission to examine her things?” He raises a brow.
Joetta nods as he returns the dagger as a sign of good faith.
“Dammit,” Sigvid trips over a smaller trunk, spilling the contents across the dusty floor. He bends down to examine a square crimson box.
No, it cannot be.
Feeling slightly apprehensive, he picks up the box and opens the lid. The contents stir up a crooked smile.
My, my, my little Queen, you did keep this.
This excursion feels worth it all now.
“Your Highness?” Joetta stands over another, considerable chest. A piece of parchment clutched in her hand, her eyes wide as saucers. “Perhaps you should see this.”
“What is it?” He takes the parchment out of her hands and instantly realizes what he is looking at—a Marriage Accord. Judging by the date, it is almost as old as Avina, down to the day.
That is Father’s signature. But who is she to be married to? Which of us is it? Me or Thrain?
My little one, why are you not a Salt Queen?
“Your Majesty,” Joetta pokes her head into the corridor, “we must leave. I will prepare you a pack of Nellie’s food and toys.”
Sigvid pockets the marriage contract and leaves with the box. He pats the curl, smirking to himself.
After he punished her for the escape attempt, Sigvid stared at Avina’s tranquil face, asleep after he beat her ass black and blue. No doubt her sweat from the ordeal affected her curls, tightening them in a way that left him stunned. He sliced off one of those precious locks and pocketed it. He hadn’t realized the gaping hole left by the incineration of the other one.
He is eager to return home.
35
SIGVID
November 20th, Year 100, 9th Era
Blackwood Inn, Salt Province
“Do not run off again, Nellie.” Sigvid scolds the tiny cat nestled against his thick chest beneath his wool cloak. “That wolf did not deserve a punch because you think you are tough shit.”
He scratches behind her ears, grumping as her big green eyes close tight and her teeny body vibrates with happiness.
Hest stomps through snow to the horse’s knees as they arrive home at Blackwood Inn.
He brushes back Nellie’s black fur, “There, you look presentable.”
He strides through the front doors, expecting to find Avina and Thora curled in a pair of chairs by the fire. Instead, he discovers smoldering embers and a quiet, echoey space.
“Avina, are you here? Thora?”
After examining the kitchen, central room, and his bedchamber, he stomps down the spiral staircase from the guest rooms. Nellie’s head twitches at each noise.
Sigvid hears wood clacking, followed by shouting out in thebackyard. “Fuck,” he runs out the back door, not knowing what to expect and fearing the worst.
He skids to a halt along the shadowed deck to find Thora sparring with Avina in his small ring. The snow has melted, mostly clearing away to the frosted dirt in the ring, where they circle one another.
“Great, Auntie V! You got closer that time.” Thora commands, her high-pitched voice slightly muffled by the thick scarf wrapped around her head and a fox fur cloak. She swings a wooden practice sword at her side with deft precision.
Avina is equally bundled with a wolf cloak, a knitted cap, and a matching scarf. She, too, clutches a wooden sword. Although her stance suggests it might bite her. “Thora, you must stop calling me that.”
