The chieftain makes another humming sound in the back of his throat. “That’s a subtle way of saying she wants us to fight for her.”
I shrug. “I thought it sounded better the way I put it.”
He shakes his head with a low laugh. Then he leans back on his heels. “What wouldyoudo? If you were chieftain of this clan.”
I snort. “I would tell them to fuck off.”
I wish I could answer differently, but he would hear the lie in my voice.
“Then why are you here doing their bidding?” he asks.
“Because they have information I need.”
“Ah.” He studies me for a minute. “Will they give you this information merely for trying? Or do you have to sway us to their cause to fulfill your end of the deal?”
“You must agree to fight for them.”
He grimaces. “Well, that is unfortunate.”
I consider the way he looks at the Valkyrie, how they communicate silently with each other, and how grim their expressions suddenly are.
“We cannot join this fight,” the chieftain finally says. “The Einherjar exist between the worlds of humans and supernaturals. We can’t and won’t take sides.”
I understand his position. I even support it. But I can’t leave knowing I accepted his answer and did nothing to test his reasoning.
“What of glory?” I ask. “There hasn’t been a war like this for decades. It would give your warriors an unparalleled chance to build their deep light—or burn it out in a battle that will be recorded in history.”
“We will find glory elsewhere,” he replies smoothly.
My next question is a growl. “When the fae come for your homes, will yougive up your landand find glory elsewhere?”
He watches me closely as I speak, and his response throws me. “I hear your mother in your voice. You have her heart.”
My father told me the same.
Before I can reply, the chieftain continues. “I’m glad there is nothing of your father in you. Bjarne raised you well. But it will not change my decision?—”
Wait.
“What did you say?” I replay his speech in my mind, his odd choice of words. “Nothing of my father? What do you mean by that?”
The chieftain freezes, exchanges a glance with the Valkyrie, and then peers at me. “Who is your father, Erik?”
“Bjarne Haakonsson,” I reply without hesitation. “The man who raised me.”
The chieftain’s shoulders slump. “Clearly, he never told you… he was not your father.”
That can’t be true.
I push back against the tumult of confusion within me. “I have his eyes.”
“You have the same gray eyes as your father because his sister also had those eyes.”
The tips of my claws are suddenly protruding, and I fight to hold them back. “I don’t understand.”
The chieftain is stony, but his speech is clear. “Your mother was my wife. But you are not my son. As I said, our former chieftain had no honor. I went to kill him, but it was Bjarne’s sword that struck him down. When your mother later died, Bjarne vowed to raise you.”
His words reach me as if they’re coming from far away. A place that can’t exist. That shouldn’t exist.
