November 3rd, Year 100, 9th Era
Somewhere in the Salt Province
Ialmost lost her. I almost fucking lost her!
The ice opening up to consume Avina to the depths is a permanent fixture in his mind’s eye. He can not seem to cease recalling her final scream, the eerie chill of her skin, as he nearly flew with her back to his tent. How he all but threw her body into the fire to thaw her bones.
But this is not what haunts Sigvid.
No, the actual pain was watching her descend into the icy void. The fear pounded through his veins as even the arrogant warrior could not guarantee the fate of his worst enemy.
Why did he fucking care if she died? Shouldn’t he be grateful that her Goddess is willing to take her from him? What made him furious beyond all measure was the moment when he had her naked in his arms, and she remained still. Cold. Blue.
How dare she take so long to awaken!
I do not care for her—the little Queen. I was distressed that I might lose my toy before even beginning to savor it.
He tells himself.
Sigvid strokes his extended auburn braid that dives down his neck, settling onto his back.
He should have dragged her to the center of camp and fucked her silly. Fulfilling the promised punishment. Yet, the thought of any of his Drengr glimpsing her in a state of pleasure enrages him beyond belief.
Avina is mine and mine alone.
As the tents cluster together, his hand at his side tightens before quickly flattening against his legs. A quick conclave of his Inner Circle–Kar, Slode, and Helga–is critical before they return to Toftlund.
All three are superb warriors in terms of strategy and skill. Yet, he craved Avina’s knowledge most now. She would have insight into Lord Leto's identity and how to apprehend Samson. However, he doubts whether his warriors would accept any guidance from the Timber Queen.
He winds his way through the clustered tents and roaring campfires. Collective smoke rises over the tops of the canvases to touch the cloudy night sky. Ahead is one of the giant bonfires, where Slode converses with a group of the younger Drengr. After sending him off to hunt down Helga, Sigvid finds Kar alone, deep into a horn of mead.
“The other two should be here shortly.” Sigvid kicks up a log beside Kar’s crackling fire while his Drengr ignores his sudden presence.
Kar drains his horn and faces Sigvid with blazing dark eyes and a throbbing vein in his forehead. “Is this all sport to you? Was the war that killed hundreds of our fighters nothing but a game?”
“This is not a game, Kar. You should know more than anyone. Those who died did so with the highest honor.”
“Then why is the enemy now your plaything? She was waiting, naked outside your cell like a common fuckingwhore!” He bellows the last word. “Why did we go to war with Timber in the first place? Was this all so you could abduct the Timber bitch as your slave?”
Where is this coming from?
“I do not know why she was outside my cell naked,” Sigvid replies calmly.
I do not know the answer to the ‘why’ part, even if I understand the ‘how’ of her invisibility.
“We went to war because an unstable man needed unseating before dismantling all of us.” Sigvid maintains the lie he told his troops until Slode and Helga arrive, when he can admit the truth. “When his wife took over, she went at us hard. We were not able to back down.” Sigvid pauses before adding. “Yes, I wish to use her at my pleasure and on my command. Is it wrong to take my enemy for myself?”
Slode and Helga join the circle around Kar’s tent and campfire. Both remain silent.
“The actions you took in that corridor were more than a hungry, sex-depraved man. The Timber Queen should be taken home as a prisoner of war. King Thrain and his Council should decide her fate.” Kar spits his words.
Sigvid laughs at the thought of Thrain cast in such an important role. “I do not trust my weak brother to rule on something as crucial as her life.” He fires back, his anger rising at Kar’s abrupt attack.
Damn, I can smell the sweet scent of mead wafting off his body. How much has he put away?
“And how significant is our enemy,Sigvid?”
Kar drops all formality. “Valuable enough to bed every night until you grow bored and run her through yourself? No doubt you’ll bury her used body somewhere on that depressive farm of yours?”
