“All right, Fitzy, what do you have for us?” Argnier asks the mink waddling on his back legs across the pier.
“After some contemplation.” His paws swipe across the wool of his tiny cloak. “You may be the only crew capable of killing a god.” He adjusts his monocle. “Before you sail for Borg Hold, you should gather the support of the only person who loathes Makt and Lavinia more than you.”
Silence descends over the group as Aura observes the knowing uncertainty reflected on the faces of Calder, Edmund, and Argnier.
“You must brave the Forest of Fear and earn entrance into the Inner Sanctum.”
A collective inhale puts Aura on edge. Her knowledge of the Forest of Fear stems from Argnier’s lessons on map building. Whatever disturbs the men remains unknown to the Princess.
A brief assessment of the Iss Drengr leaves her with a sinking suspicion that he knows more than he lets on.
“Why? What is the importance?” Aura asks, but none of them meet her gaze.
Fitz sighs, waving a paw in the direction of her companions. “You lads are worthless!” He shuffles closer to her feet, and she crouches to his level. “Initially, it was a pilgrimage site for the people of Skalor. The gods needed them to confront their fears of living in such an inhospitable place, and the Norn delivered, crafting a sanctuary protected by their uniqueseidr.
“Someone needed to oversee such a place. The Wicked Wyvern, lassie. She was once a mortal woman who oversaw the pilgrims as they completed their trials and arrived at the Inner Sanctum. Makt took notice of her beauty and abilities. He elevated her to a lesser goddess and married the unfortunate lass. Alas, his infidelity and corruption proved to be too much, among other atrocities. The legends state that she sought revenge on his halvguds and mistresses. Pilgrimages ceased out of fear of her wrath.”
Aura’s mind grapples with another earth-shattering revelation on this perilous journey.
Argnier coughs. “Well, shit.” He places his hands on his lower back and stretches, producing a crack somewhere on his body. “I didn’t plan on seeing that old leather hide again. How about we doit without her help?” He holds his hands out as he looks at the others.
Calder rubs his temples. “Diverting from the course will waste valuable time. We still have to deal with Sigvid in Treland.”
“Laddies,” Fitz extends his arms to his sides, “If you wish to cut down the God of Power, you need to ally with his wife.”
After a lengthy, mostly silent debate, they ultimately decide they need the Wicked Wyvern. Her powers as a lesser goddess and her knowledge of Makt will be essential for defeating him.
“Don’t worry, cousin. She only gobbles up halvgud children of Makt,” Edmund reassures Aura with a pat on her head. “Little children of the Depths and Golden Citadel are spared.”
Calder has grown even more reserved and somehow pale as they prepare to adjust course south around Makt’s Temple and deep into the Forest of Fear.
After collecting additional resources from the village, Aura heads to the barn to find him sitting on his bag, puffing on his pipe while inspecting Makt’s great axe across his lap.
Edmund tosses Aura her pack and whispers. “I haven’t seen him this nervous since I tried my hand at fire breathing.”
Aura stares at her cousin as if she has never quite seen him before.
He shrugs. “Astria is a wild country.” With a final pat on her back, he shoulders his bag and strides into the overcast day.
She approaches Calder with a light touch along his neck. “Surely the Forest of Fear is an exaggerated name.”
A relieved breath of sweet smoke escapes his mouth. “It is named appropriately. When you enter, it reveals your worst fears. You either accept them and pass through or perish.”
“If ever there was someone who could enter such a place and step away unscathed, it would be you, Calder.” She settles on the ground with her legs crossed.
“You think highly of me, pretty girl.” He leans closer and kisses the top of her head. “Areyouready for this?”
She senses he is withholding, and suddenly, Helga’s attemptedwarning worms into her mind. The urge to confront him about the suspected truth lurking in her heart thunks against her chest.
Not yet.
“Is anyone ready to face their fears?” She kneels to lean up and press her lips to his, gasping at how his beard tingles straight between her legs.
He tugs her into his lap and they lose themselves in each other's lips. For just a moment, she forgets the perilousness of their journey.
When the group gathers at the edge of the woods, preparing to trek deeper into the forest, Fitz ushers her away from the others. “The forest will require you to confront your greatest fear, lass.”
“To pass through unscathed, right?” Her gaze flicks to Calder puffing on his pipe.
