“Well?” Irritation bled through the king’s words.
My words tangled in my throat as I scrambled to answer. “I… I come as the Sweengard heir, Your Majesty. I will represent the Sweengard name and my father in the trials and in the Hird.”
The way the king’s eyes tightened at the corners had me press my lips together.
“And where is your father?”
“He is at war, my king.” I placed my hand over my chest, wishing for the strength that used to flow through me. “My brother is with him. We found new lands. They’re fruitful, and my father wished to claim them for you before our enemies could.”
“I hadn’t heard about any new lands.” The queen leaned forward as King Gustief continued to eye me, his collar links clinking. “When were they discovered?”
I didn’t miss a beat. “Two moons ago. They had to leave swiftly. Enemy ships were already approaching.”
“Ah.” The queen leaned back in her chair.
“You are the firstborn daughter?” King Gustief asked.
I bowed my head. “Elvara Sweengard.”
“Why are you dressed like my harlots?” The king jerked hishead so that his iron helmet shifted, the strange stones fastened to it glittering in the dim light.
The shaman who’d stood like a figurehead behind him shuffled forward to ensure it was centered across his forehead again.
I clenched my hands behind my back as I offered the king a smile, my mind racing with scenarios that would help explain my appearance. I couldn’t tell the truth because the king would see my stupidity as weakness. I couldn’t jest about it, not when a single slip would give him the excuse he needed to cleave my skull.
When I turned toward the captives, one of the women spat on the ground, and another snarled something in a strange, thick tongue. Judging by her tone, though, it wasn’t something particularly friendly. There was only one—the raven-haired servant I’d almost knocked over—who stared at me with something akin to pity.
Slowly, I blinked.
“We come to the Hird to learn how to best pillage and conquer, do we not?” I asked, my voice cutting through the thick, smoke-heavy air. The silence that followed was physical, a large hand tightening around my throat.
When Gustief waved his hand for me to go on, one corner of my mouth quirked. “What better way than to blend in—make our enemies trust us—before we strike?”
“What do you mean?” The king took a goblet the queen offered him and downed it swiftly, leaving brown droplets of ale in his light beard when finished.
“The trials serve to display our strategies and strength. I was thinking… If I pretend to be one of our enemies, I may learn their weaknesses—save as many of our own lives as possible so we may claim more, farther-away lands,” I explained. “I’m also sure many of the nations we invade hide their treasures. Blending in as one of them… I might find out things that a blade to the throat cannot.”
The girl who had had some warmth in her eyes looked down at her shackled feet, and something twisted deep in my guts. But I ignored it when the king’s laughter broke the silence. The crowdmirrored him, their voices joining in a rehearsed chorus of mockery.
“Beautiful and cunning.” He nodded again. “I understand why Fritiof kept you hidden. You’ll have to fight off the brutes this summer.”
As the Vikings behind me howled, I gave him my most vicious smile, hiding every piece of my broken heart behind my sharp teeth. While almost every person was laughing, there were some who did not. Ottoh and Adrion glowered when I peeked their way, and there were a few karls who adjusted their weapons instead of cheering with goblets in their hands.
“You may enter the trials, Elvara Sweengard.”
With that, the king waved for a servant to come with another horn of wine.
I backed away, putting distance between myself and the throne.
I didn’t join the other heirs. The urge to drive steel through Ottoh’s chest was too heavy a roar in my ears. But such an outburst would be telling, so I stayed my hand, seeking the comfort of the tent walls instead.
That strange warrior with the cropped hair and tattoos stood beside a table cluttered with half-gnawed bones and spilled ale, still as a monument to a faraway battle. He looked as out of place as I felt, not an ember of mirth in his eyes, not a drop of liquor running down his chin.
While he hadn’t meant it, he’d snapped me out of my panic, so I settled beside him, hiding my shaking hands behind my back while the king rose from his throne. Head turned forward, I mumbled, “Thank you for earlier.”
Not a muscle in the man’s body moved.
I tried again, raising my voice slightly. “I said thank you.”
