“Leave me alone.” She shrieks through a new wave of tears. How dare they! How dare they exploit her feelings for laughs.
“Can’t you hear it, Helga? The faint quivering and blubbering. She cares for our Prince, and we know he only has eyes for tavern wenches.” Finn’s expression is joyous.
But something darker, more akin to understanding mixed with fear, flashes over Helga.
Why is Finn mistaking my physical pain and general misery for affection toward Sigvid?
That familiar sensation of being both alone and trapped squeezes her chest until she cannot breathe. She will die at Finn’s hands or on her knees for Sigvid. It means no difference. Either way, Avina is unloved and uncared for by those who come in contact with her. She can only pray to Gullveig, Goddess of Order, that Bertie will recognize she is missing and ensure her generals come to rescue her.
At least they like her enough.
“This changes everything,” Finn leans closer, so his breath chokes her senses. “Once our Lord has his fill of you, I will filet you alive, Highness. Guilt-free of his anger. Your skin will feed the sharks circling the beaches along the Toftlund coast. I will have my vengeance for my father!”
“Finn, you are making a horrible mistake!” Helga fervently grips his forearm. “I think you are overgeneralizing his lordship. Any threats against her would be unwise.”
“Fuck off, Helga.”
Avina is torn in a thousand different directions. How has she lived a quiet childhood where no one acknowledged her existence to the events of today? In such a brief time, three people claimed to use her for their end. She silently cries, wishing her Goddess would hear her prayers.
Please, Goddess Maeve,she begs, don’t you forsake me too. I need someone on my side.
“Help me lift her fat ass on the back of Sigvid’s horse,” Finn commands.
He and Helga lift her body and settle her on the back of Sigvid’s midnight stallion while she yells at them to let her go.
Finn mounts the horse and then turns backward to help Helga secure Avina. Her body feels like anything abrupt will send her flying off the side.
Once she is tight against the beast, she hears Finn inhale a breath.
“Are you truly going to kill her?” Helga sounds frightened.
“Not yet. We will let the Commander play with his shiny new toy. The least I can do is deliver her to him.”
“But he requested two horses be ready when he emerges. You cannot take his steed.”
Finn ignores Helga and grabs the reins of Sigvid’s horse, his own, and the spare before he rides away from the Arena. She observes a frustrated Helga push her horse harder to catch up with them.
Her heart pounds as the Arena fades into the landscape. Finn taking the horses will surely slow Sigvid and Kar down.
Why would he have done that to Sigvid? Is this revenge important?
She cannot decide whose vengeance she fears more.
They follow the packed dirt road until they enter another forest, and the terrain turns coarser, with more snow and towering pine trees. In the distance, the imposing peaks of the western region rise. The area’s dramatic fjords and inhospitable soil leave it breathtaking and dangerous.
Finn takes them across a stone bridge stretched over a deep channel cut into the landscape like a bleeding wound.
They are here.
The Salt Province.
She did not realize how genuinely close they were. Finn had not ridden for long. Avina turns her head, and from the side of the horse, she can see the remainder of the Drengr warriors.
The Drengr.
She shivers not from the cold but from the sheer number of brutal Salt fighters. He has two hundred men and women on horseback. If the legends are true, they all swore a blood oath to the Lord Commander.
One of the Drengr steps forward as they come to a halt. He is shirtlessexcept for a thick bearskin cloak over a heavily tattooed, sculpted chest. His long black hair is braided tightly down his back.
