It wasn’t even about Helheim. It was about dishonoring his memory.
I dragged my feet across the ground, every step a betrayal of the honor and pride that had been scorched into my flesh since birth—repeated again and again so I’d know the gods were always watching, always waiting in the shadows. As I moved, a pair of dark eyes locked onto mine, unblinking and cold enough to freeze the breath in my lungs.
The warrior’s brow arched, a slow, deliberate movement that felt like a blade’s nick. It was the same look he’d given me earlier—like he’d already seen my soul, and found it wanting.
Coward.
I read the verdict in his gaze.
Heknew. He knew that Ivren was letting me win.
I wasn’t sure how, but he did.
When my feet stuttered, his lips twitched. I was already walking the edge, but the slight curl of those lethal lips set my blood aflame, and a snarl that made the crowd cheer louder than they had all night ripped from me.
I was many things, but I wasn’t a fucking coward.
“End it,heir,” the warrior ordered.
The urge to lunge at him became a fever in my blood, hot and demanding. I wanted to bury my knuckles in his throat and feel it crush under my weight. But I didn’t. Icouldn’t.
Instead, tears clouded my vision when I caught Ivren in the middle of getting to his feet, and my fist connected with his nose with a sickening, wet thud that sent a jolt of lightning up my arm. As he truly stumbled this time, the hot, metallic spray of his blood painted my clothing—a crimson reminder of everything I would do and everyone I would betray to save my people.
The Vikings around me went wild when I screamed through my teeth.
Viljan, his hard face turned to the grass, was the only one who wasn’t looking at me.
I made my decision then. I would not survive this summer—that much was clear. And even if by some miracle I did, my people couldn’t be led by a Viking destined for Hel. But they could be led by Viljan. If I stayed alive only for as long as it took me to choose him as my second—the one who would become heir if I no longer breathed—and protect his honor best I could in the process, I’d have served my purpose.
I dragged my palms across the mess on my leathers, and as my father’s and Lika’s faces flashed in my mind, I drew two streaks of blood across my cheeks—a furious offering to the gods who were watching me shame my name.
I cried out again, the sound tearing from my lungs until thecrowd swallowed it, echoing back a roar of victory I didn’t deserve.
Laughter bubbled through my throat. It wasn’t a triumph; it was the sound of my soul shedding its skin. It might have started back home, but now I’d truly let the girl from Oenskan drown in the blood of my friend, leaving everything I’d ever been behind.
Honorable. Truthful. Proud. A firstborn daughter to a mighty chieftain.
The gods would brand me a coward and a cheat for the way I’d fought today.
I caught my breath, stumbling backward from the ring.
But that’s what my people need.
Someone to fight for them. Even if I had to fight dirty. Even if I had to cheat.
The laughter died in my throat at the faces circling the pit.
My people didn’t needan heir. They didn’t need someone the gods would warmly welcome into Valhalla. They didn’t need a hero.
I didn’t look as the deafening war cries rumbled through the air like thunder while the warrior declared me the winner, or when the king gave a single clap—confirmation that he was pleased with the bloodshed. My chest heaved as I tilted my head back, the blood streaks on my cheeks tightening as they dried.
Honor was for those who could afford to die.
I was choosing the power of those who refused to.
I might not be a hero in the end.
But I was a survivor.
