“Were you trying to fuck your way into the Drengr like your mother did?”
“You, miserable maggot!” Aura reacts, refusing to let this assholeslander her mum, the most compassionate person on the Endless Shore. Her fist cocks back, and she pivots on her heel, only for Calder to intervene.
He grabs her fist and spins Aura to face him. “Do not listen,” he whispers, “to a man who passed his Trial because his opponent fell and knocked himself out. Rise above his nonsense.”
She nods, pulling away from his grip and confronting her peer. “Stay away from my family,” she hisses.
“Little bitch!” one of the older men steps forward, drawing his sword.
Calder moves ahead of Aura, his pipe clenched between his teeth as he exhales smoke from both nostrils. “Rethink your actions.”
“Shit, shit, are you?”
Calder folds his arms across his chest, the leather of his armor creaking as he breathes. “Jarl Calder Avardsson. The Iss Drengr,” he growls.
“W-we apologize, sir!”
“Ye-yes, we won’t cause trouble again.” They all scatter into the city.
Calder gives her a slight smile, wraps his arm around her shoulders, and squeezes. “Come on, Princess, I will buy the first round.”
They barely reach the tavern when shouts and commotion from the brothel next door cause a scene on the street.
Subtly, they join the crowd, forming a semi-circle around the open doors of the seedier establishment.
Calder's unwavering presence is behind her, his arms crossed as they observe the crowd of onlookers. Whispers circulate, fostering a growing unease, not unlike the extra sense her mother encourages her to consider in her decision-making.
Another scream emanates from inside the brothel, followed by more shouting. Aura stands on her toes, cursing the height she inherited from her mother, as she cannot see over the heads of the bystanders.
“Move!” Despite being bumped and jostled by others, she pushes through the crowd until she reaches the front. The commotionfocuses on a furious-looking woman with long, straw-colored hair, dressed in a drab frock cut low to reveal her breasts and prominent clavicle.
It takes her a moment to recognize the facial structure beneath the dyed hair.
Isabel?
Two Toftlund guards spar with the daughter of Rendel to lock her wrists in irons.
A whirlwind carrying dust and debris encircles the soldiers. The wind stream slams them into the ground in an explosion of soot.
Father said Calder is the only individual who possesses an elemental ability. No Sacred Stone on the Endless Shore can bestow something so powerful, so raw.
Standing at the front of the crowd is Eivor’s brother, Serk, leaning on his walking stick while Eivor removes her dagger and charges Isabel.
“For the Princess!” she shrieks in her high-pitched voice.
Isabel sneers at the little girl and throws her hands up, palms out, unleashing a gust of wind.
“No!” Rage flares within Aura as she dashes across the street to place herself between them.
But she is too late.
The blow sends Eivor’s tiny body colliding into a street cart. Trinkets clatter to the cobblestone as the surrounding onlookers rush to tend to the girl.
“You are a fucking disgrace! What are you even still doing in my city?” Aura wields her axe in her dominant hand and a dagger in the other.
“I am exactly where I want to be.” Isabel’s arm draws back just as Aura brings her axe down. The gust of air shoved upward by Isabel serves as a shield, pushing Aura backward. Before she can strike again, a wall of ice erupts between them.
Dammit, Calder!
