In the next second Ivren was on me, and I hated myself for the surprised yelp leaving me. His hand cupped my neck, and as he dragged me to him as if he was going to get my legs out from beneath me, his lips found my ear and he hissed, “Take me down.”
A lump sprang into my throat.
“No,” I breathed as I wound my hands around his back.
“Yes,” he snapped back. “Take. Me. Down.”
I tried to clear my throat, but it was futile.
I couldn’t take him down. This wasn’t our way. This wasn’t the Viking way.
We fought until blood or iron or dirt or pride took us.
I tried to say so—tried to tell him it’d bring dishonor to my people, to my family—but Ivren didn’t give me time to respond as his leg shot out. I reacted on instinct, shoving him away from me. He flew back with far more power than I’d used, and I almost folded over when he, with perfect precision, fell onto his ass.
I was the only one who saw his wink.
“No!”
“Ivren, back on your feet!”
“Get her!”
The mockery around us made my muscles twitch, and the air grew even hotter.
A line of sweat trickled down my back as my mind went blank.
“Take her out!” I heard someone scream, as if from far away.
Ivren was still on the ground, pretending to catch his breath. I cast Viljan a desperate look, but there was nothing to be found in his face. Only sorrow.
Please. Please tell me what to do.
This couldn’t be the way. But my guard only stared back at me with a gaze as empty as my body felt. He had no solution—no other option. My hands flexed by my sides.
What I’d done the past few days might be forgiven by the gods. But cheating like this? Pretending to win a fight I didn’t deserve? Odin wouldn’t overlook that. Neither would any of the other gods. The honor of the fight was embedded into our marrow. It was the key to unlocking the doors of Valhalla.
Viljan averted his gaze.
A glacial wind blew through the tent, sending sparks toward the ceiling.
For a second, black smoke covered my line of sight. The breeze seeped into my blood, and I knew. I would do this. For my peopleand my family I would do this if it allowed me to stay alive a little bit longer. And I would sentence myself to an eternity in Helheim for it, walking a realm of only ice and mist and dampness.
Bile burned in my throat when I turned to Ivren, and his eyes flashed at whatever he saw in my face. As I charged him, he jumped up onto his feet again, and we began a twisted dance.
My knuckles found his jaw again and again with a force that looked lethal but felt hollow. Ivren played his part, his head snapping back with every exaggerated blow. But when he struck back, the contact was nothing more than a brush of skin. He was shielding me even as he beat me, and the mercy of it tasted like poison.
It was everything I’d been taught not to do.
Shoving him back, I screamed out my shame when he fell once more, his hands pressing against his chest as if I had knocked the air out of him.
“Get him!”
The crowd pressed in, and even the heirs were cheering for the end now.
I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.
Sweengards might lie, but we didn’t cheat. We were honorable. We treated every person with respect. We didn’t take what wasn’t ours. This—what I was doing now—went against everything my father had drilled into me.
