The religious leaders are found throughout the land and relinquish sex and alcohol to live a life of poverty in an ornate temple. This one happens to be a young male with a fiercely determined expression.
The Gothi stands between Thrain’s home and Sigvid as if guarding something. “I am thrilled to see you safe from the Arena, my lord. I see you return home with a guest.” His words tumble out awkwardly as if he would rather be anywhere else than confronting Sigvid Thordsson.
“Gothi.” He nods his head. “Yes, I have someone with me.”
The young man hesitates, his frail hands scratching at his brown wool cloak as if it might inspire his words. “I humbly request that you permit the Timber Queen to move into the care of the Treland Gothi. We—er, do request this as our authority—er, bestowed upon us by the gods.”
Is he asking me a question or telling me to give up my ownership of Avina?
Sigvid claps his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Alfi, can I call you Alfi?”
“It’s Skorri,” he mutters.
“It will not come up again.” Sigvid wraps his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Listen, Alfi, I am going to introduce Avina,” he gestures to her, who bears an expression like she is witnessing him filet this man alive, “to my brother. Then I am going to take her to my home and fuck her cunt until she can no longer string together coherent sentences.”
The Gothi swallows hard and continues sweating profusely. “I, er, the head Gothi, do wish to see the Queen safe.”
“Does she look unsafe to you?” Sigvid nods to his bound prize, who increasingly looks like she wants to dig a hole and hide in it
“I, er, she looks alive.”
“I knew I liked you, Alfi.” Sigvid slaps a hand on his back and nearly shoves him onto the street, away from them.
With one hand tight on the back of Avina’s neck and the other on her shoulder, he guides her through the parting crowd to Thrain’s condescending smirk.
He can feel her shift under his grasp the closer they are to Thrain. There is no way to prepare her to meet his brother.
In typical Thrain fashion, his smile twists into that charming allure women and men fawn over.
But not Sigvid.
Unlike many, he can see through his brother’s facade.
Quite literally, in fact.
“Who is this lovely specimen, brother?” Thrain’s voice is like molten honey dripping over a burnt loaf. The bread will always taste like ash, no matter how sweet the syrup.
Sigvid lets out a guttural growl, sending the lingering Toftlunders scurrying away. The three of them are left alone on the stretch of lane.
“Brother, brother,” Thrain holds up his hands, feigning surrender. “I only summoned you to exchange pleasantries. Your Drengr seem exhausted. Send them home and come inside with this beautiful woman.” Thrain runs his pointer finger under Avina’s chin.
Sigvid does not miss her shiver from his touch. “Careful, brother.” His growl is so low his chest vibrates in response.
Thrain smiles effortlessly before entering his home.
Sigvid points two fingers at several of his Drengr to remain nearby while dismissing the rest.
“I did not realize you and Thrain are twins. You have such similar facial features that it is impossible not to notice.” Avina pipes up.
He halts. At first, a wicked snarl betrays his displeasure at her comparison. Then, the magnitude of her words sinks in.
She remarked on the similarity between his and Thrain’sfaces.
Oh, my little Queen. If only you understood the implication of your words.
As fucking terrible as this is going to be once they enter Thrain’s house, a sick satisfaction passes over him. Even with his brother's illusion, she still only sees Sigvid.
“Before we enter, you must know something about my little brother.”
