Bjorn remains silent while his grin widens across his face.
“Stop it!” She swats at his arm again. “The Gods may have bestowed you with foresight, but your Sacred Stone power does not make you superior. You do not know everything.”
“So defensive.” He tilts his head, maintaining that annoying smirk. “What I do know is that mountain of a man paces outside your door each night. Do not forget, little sis, I can see into the future–no matter how briefly–and he desperately wants to open your bedroom door.”
He adjusts his charcoal-colored vest while she averts his gaze, her cheeks burning.
Bjorn places his hand on her shoulder. “Be careful, sissy. You know Father just as I do. He will burn the country down should he catch you with him in any questionable state. And Calder will return to Skalor in two halves.” He tilts her chin upward so she can gaze into his gray eyes. “I know more than you believe. And you have been less subtle than you think.”
She tugs away from him, gripping her forearm. “None of this matters anymore.” She taps one of the boards with the tip of her boot. “Anything we were is now in the wind. I care nothing for him.”
“I know you better than that.” He ruffles his loose black locks. “When you find your way back to him, please take caution.”
Aura snarls. “What are you saying?” She pokes him in the center of his chest. “That I am some sad, desperate girl?”
“Not at all. Knowing you two enjoy each other's company doesn't take foresight.”
“You are mistaken, B.” She rolls her shoulders back and lifts her chin. Whatever he has seen or foreseen is false.
Bjorn kisses the top of her head. “I do not make mistakes, little sister.” He sweeps out of the room.
Aura chooses to walk alone to Toftlund. The carriage with her mother, sister, and grandmother has already left, and she does not desire to catch the subsequent ride with Bjorn and her uncles.
There are too many questions she doesn’t want to answer.
When she arrives at the longhouse, all the doors stand open, and laughter spills out, pulling her lips into a hesitant smile.
“Princess!” Eivor almost topples her on the stairs as her brother, Serk, joins them, leaning on his staff. “Did you see they have free food on every street?”
“Father paid all the business's extra coin to provide for tonight’s Farewell Feast.” Aura embraces the young girl. “I am thrilled to see you both joining in the festivities.”
“Of course!” Eivor rolls her eyes. The little girl wraps her arms around her waist. “I always wanted a sister. You are the closest I have.”
She brushes aside the little girl’s brown hair. “You know I am here for you.”
Eivor pulls away and grabs her brother’s hand, tugging him inside the longhouse.
After composing herself, she enters a different door into the crackling of the hearth, upbeat music, and shouts from the drunken revelers.
Heads turn at her entrance. Sharp whispers, some filled with laughter and others tinged with pity, make her stomach churn.
When will they fuck off about the Trial?
At the first long table sits a group of newly initiated Drengr, listening intently as her father regales them with his favorite anecdote from his imprisonment in the Treland Arena. It is a story so frequently shared in Toftlund that she hears it from townsfolk every time she visits the city.
“Then I slid my axe across his chest, leaving a deep red, bleeding line.” Sigvid makes a slicing motion on the closest Drengr’s chest while several warriors mouth the words. “I stood over Face’s fucking head, I smiled and said-”
Aura leaps onto the opposite end of the table, brandishing her dagger, “You deserve this. And the crowd wildly cheered as he tossed the man's still-bleeding leg into the stands!” She shouts at the table, and the Drengr collectively leap at her sudden appearance—those not in her father’s line of sight chuckle.
Sigvid’s arms drop to his side, and his mouth gapes. “Aura! That is the best part of the story.” He flops into his chair with a frown. His gaze tracks her as she walks away, cackling. He jumps back to his feet. “Well, let me tell you about when I fought the Battlemaster!”
Aura weaves in and out of the crowd of revelers, encountering mostly familiar faces who smile back at her. Usually, she would sit with the Drengr, but since the Norn deemed her unworthy of a place among them, not to mention the humiliation of the blacklist, she opts to sit on her throne.
The remainder of the raised dais sits empty. Her mother is conversing deeply with the Queen of Pradacia, and her siblings must be elsewhere.
As soon as she settles into the chair crafted by her father, adorned with runes and designs of nautilus shells, her gaze lands on the one person whose company she has been avoiding.
Calder sits in a corner chatting with her Uncle Grim, whose arms mimic the motions of swinging an axe.
