The phrase ‘blood is thicker than water’ seems like a load of horse shit when this daughter of servants, raised partially by Sigvid, bears so much resemblance and loyalty to him.
“My dear,” She sighs, tilting her head to the side, “Sigvid is all I have ever wanted. But,” she holds up a hand to stop the retort forming on Thora’s lips, “I fear I ended up in a position that I will never be able to escape.”
“If Uncle Sig is all you wanted, then you should be marrying him, not his fucking brother. You can’t marry Thrain.”
“Please understand, I l-like Sigvid. More than Thrain, more than any other man in Treland. Thrain he- he… I don’t have a choice.”
Thora searches her eyes. “So Thrain is forcing you into this? Why? Who do I have to hurt to get you out of this? Don’t forget what you told me about handling the situation with Sven. ‘I will feel better if I talk to Sig.’”
Thanks for throwing my own words back in my face, Thora.
Everything is spiraling out of control.
“This is complicated, and you do not need to worry or tell anyone.” She gives her a pleading look. “Besides, I never said he coerced me.”
“You said Thrain didn’t give you a choice, so he is coercing you.”
Avina sighs, twisting a loose curl around her pointer finger. “I have said far toomuch.”
“Too much? Explain, Aunt V. I swear I won’t tell anyone. I want to help.” Her voice becomes more excited at the thought of holding secret information.
“You already know too much. Ugh, this has gotten out of hand.” Avina paces, twirling her hair in a vain attempt to stem her anxiety to a physical fidget.
“Thrain did not threaten me. He promised violence against those I care about. Thora,” she grasps her upper arm, “I am working on a solution, but please, you must not tell a soul.”
“I won’t tell anyone, but you know you should tell Uncle Sig. He can help you with this. Uncle Sig and his Drengr would kill Thrain. And me, I would help!”
Avina feels a swell of affection toward Thora—another one to add to the short list of her chosen family.
“Hey!” Thora points further along the path to the porch of Blackwood. “Who is that homeless person sitting in Uncle Sig’s chair?” Thora unsheaths a dagger from somewhere on her person, “is it one of Thrain’s men? I’ll stab him through his fucking eye!”
Oh, goddess, is that cousin Bertie?
Bertie’s usual perfectly tousled hair looks unwashed and disheveled. Even his usually freshly tended, colorful attire is rumpled and dirty. He rocks in Sigvid’s sole chair on the deck, clutching a bottle of Salt mead while singing an out-of-tune song about romancing a drauger.
“Bertie?” She stands at the base of the steps. Behind her shoulder Thora snorts comments.
Acting like a drunken fool is uncharacteristic of him. She immediately worries that something has gone seriously awry back in the Ridge.
“Oh good, you know this homeless man?” Slode appears around the corner of the porch. His typical laid-back demeanor scrunches in annoyance. He glares down at Bertie with a puzzling amount of amusement that doesn’t fit his frustrated tone.
“He is my cousin, Duke Bertram Alexandrite. I’m just as baffled as to why he’s on the deck of Blackwood and not in the Sapphire Palace.” Her voice finally registers in Bertie’s mind, and he leaps to his feet, startlingSlode.
“Shadow! I knew I'd find you here.” He slurs terribly. Even at his most intoxicated, she has never known him to act like this.
“What happened to you?”
He sways on the edge of the steps, but Slode catches him almost gracefully.
“You smell like cinnamon, Ridge lord.” Slode sniffs his neck like he is sampling a delectable treat.
Bertie brushes away Slode’s long midnight hair with a giggle.
Did he giggle at Slode?
“Aren’t you a charmer?” Bertie taps Slode on the nose with his index finger, and Avina can hear Thora inhale sharply.
Slode is a decent enough fellow, although he is still a battle-hardened Drengr, perhaps the most skilled warrior in Sigvid’s arsenal. Not to mention his oldest friend. One of his deadly inner circle. A boop on the nose is not an action she is prepared to watch him suffer. Avina waits for Slode to react aggressively, but instead, his face softens.
