Smoke hangs heavily around Sigvid’s Blackwood study as he angrily puffs on his pipe. When he reaches for more tobacco, it is to find his pouch empty. The Salt Prince threateningly growls while he slams shut his father’s journal.
When she arrived at his home, Frida's first conversation was to pass along his father’s detailed memoir. Unsurprisingly, she had already poked her way through the pages and had her own insight into his father’s possible killer. He could always count on her to meddle in business that is not hers, even if it is for the better.
Thord’s penned words paint the missing piece of Sigvid’s future–to unify all three Sacred Stones and take the throne of Treland. Thrain’s interference means only one thing: he somehow learned about the marriage accord and Avina’s significance to the country.
Has he managed to scheme everything? And what role did Ceowald play besides likely killing Thord? Even Rendel’s head at the feet of Ceowald was about ensuring Sigvid never became King of Treland, but that Thrain will take control.
Fuck, I cannot worry about this right now. Not when I need to remove Avina from Thrain’s clutches before another fucking overreaching ass with a cock hurts her.
Sigvid learned his lesson after the Sacred Stone in the garden shed. He locks the journal away in the top drawer of his desk and then withdraws a rectangular box from underneath the desk.
“Sig?” Frida appears in the doorway wrapped in a white mink cloak. “Do you have a moment?”
He glances from the box to her. “Of course.” He gestures to an open seat.
“No, this will not take long.” She first closes the doorbefore standing above his desk. “I understand you are a man and not a boy. Please indulge your old mother with some words of wisdom.”
He sighs, reclining in the chair.
“When Thord signed the marriage agreement with Ceowald, he did so believing he was honoring the gods' wishes. But everything changed when we watched the little princess grow.” She smiles in the same way she does when Avina is around.
“Bright and sweet,” she trails off, considering more to say yet thinking better of it. “She is your balance, my son. I see the peace she brings to you just as you draw her into the light. Except Thord’s worst nightmare has finally materialized. You and your brother uncovered Avie’s worth and now use it for your twisted motives.”
“Say what you mean, Mother.” He taps two fingers on the surface of his desk.
“Return her to Timber or marry her-”
“I think Thrain has that well in hand.” His flippant remark tastes bitter in his mouth.
If Mother knows her youngest son threatens her life by forcing Avina to marry him, she will be devastated.
Frida assesses him with a lack of amusement. “Your brother is as interested in marrying her as he is in drinking saltwater for the rest of his life. Your father foresaw your rise, my son. The gods favor you to take the throne, not Thrain. And Avie was born to be Queen.” She throws open the door.
“For the love of the gods, admit how you feel to the girl. She deserves better than the likes of either of you,” Frida leaves without another word.
When he enters their bedroom, Avina sits in the rocking chair, pulling on knee-high brown boots. She is adorned in a long-sleeved maroon Salt-style gown with curved knots embroidered along the seams. Upon his return with Nellie, he had the dress custom-made for her.
Anything to keep her out of those wretched Timber gowns.
He pauses in the doorway to appreciate the way she moves. Tiny muscles flinch in her brow and temples as her mind focuses intently on athought. Atop her left hand is a tattoo of Nellie’s pawprint that he gave her after he added his new tallies.
He glances over his shoulder and remembers Thora has already left for the festival with Grim, and Bertie is still readying.
This is his chance.
Even before his mother’s ill-timed, well-mannered attempt to free Avina from his clutches. Dammit, she is right. Avina has become a tool between him and his brother.
“Avina…” his appearance lifts her features to a joyful expression.
What if I misjudged her feelings? What if she rejects me?
“I am almost prepared to leave.” She finishes tying the strings of her boots and leaps to her feet.
“Before we go, I want to give you something.” This is his second attempt to gift her these.
Excitement and apprehension flash across her scrunched face. “What is the occasion?”
“You needed these, and I wished to craft them for you.” Sigvid watches her feet dance slightly in excitement.
