You didn’t say no to the king—that was only a different death sentence.
When Viljan bowed his head, I gave him a fracture of a smile.
He wouldn’t run. When they found out, he would seal his back against mine, and we’d take down as many as we could.
A Sweengard always fought to the end. All Vikings did. It was the only way we’d be allowed into Valhalla, where heroes shared long tables full of the finest food and wine and ale, and where Odin offered a harbor for weary bones.
My smile slipped when I thought of my actions the past few days. Hiding from my enemies and lying and skulking in the shadows wasn’t exactly worthy of sagas and songs. But I didn’t have a choice. Surely the gods would see that.
I unsheathed my sword.
Viljan held my gaze as he clutched the handles of his two axes.
“Until my body is but blackened ash,” he mouthed.
“See you in Valhalla,” I whispered.
Viljan gave me a grim look, his fingers tapping the wooden shafts.
“No weapons.” The rude warrior came to Gustief’s side, his tongue peeking through as he smirked my way. A shadow of surprise crossed the king’s face, but it vanished a second later, as if it had never been there at all.
“No weapons?” the king echoed.
“Too easy.” The warrior showed his teeth when Ottoh made asound of protest. “Let them fight with hands. Get a little dirty before we train them.”
There was that strange shift in his words again. Almost as if they were difficult for him to get out.
“I like it.” King Gustief clapped a heavy hand on the warrior’s shoulder before he stepped back, gesturing for the man to go on.
“Who will fight her?” the warrior called.
The crowd’s jeers hit the air like whips.
Viljan inched closer when no one stepped forward.
“Fuck no,” Ottoh mumbled. “It’s not fair. She’s stronger than all of us.”
“She’s been waiting for this,” Adrion added. “So she can humiliate us.”
I gripped the sword so hard my hand ached as someone came up behind my left shoulder, his hand pressing once in the middle of my back before he settled by my side.
“I’ll fight her.” Ivren’s elbow nudged mine. “I’ve been shamed enough times by your brother. I’m sure I’ll survive being bested by you too.”
“Great,” the king shouted. “The Solsken heir and the Sweengard will fight until first blood.”
“Ivren!”
“Ivren!”
“Ivren!”
The crowd started chanting his name as I turned my head over my shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I hissed under my breath.
He knew. He knew exactly what did not flow through my veins—what had faded on my heart and died with my father. I wouldn’t win if I fought him. I’d seen him with the others. I might get one punch in, but as soon as he landed one, I’d be on the grass.
“Trust me,” Ivren whispered.
