Nine
Ibarely registered Adrion fighting Ottoh, nor the wet thud as a blow split Adrion’s brow, sending a rush of blood down his face. And I watched as if from outside my body when Rakkel faced Ivren, and how despite his eyes still being glassy and unfocused from my strike, he drew first blood in less than a minute.
Viljan stood beside me when the king threw out his hands, silencing the hungry crowd that was crying for more blood. I felt his eyes on my face, but I stood stiff, staring straight ahead as he whispered, “You’ll be all right.”
I barely moved as I responded, “I know.”
“We knew this would be hard,” Viljan continued as some of the king’s men carried out trays with goblets and cups of wine and ale, offering them to the feral karls crowding around us.
“I did what I had to do,” I whispered through my teeth. “It might not be what will make the gods proud, but it is what might save us. Now please give me some space.”
“Elvara—”
“I said, give me some space. You’re my guard still, and you follow my orders,” I snarled.
His brows flew upward, but Viljan didn’t say anything else as he backed up, taking up a spot beside the other heirs’ guards to the left of the dais. I kept my eyes on my bloodied boots as the king began speaking once more.
“Now that we’ve had a taste of what this summer will bring…” The king raised his cup, and the Vikings standing in a half circle behind me roared. “Welcome to the Hird, and our first trials!”
The collective shouts made the ground beneath my feet vibrate.
Rakkel shuffled closer to me when the people surrounding us began a chant, a low hum in the back of their throats—a wordless song of pillaging and war and glory. Ivren took her other side, and Ottoh and Adrion took up spots behind us when the crowd hemmed us in, a wall of breathing flesh, forcing us closer to the dais.
“A new generation of Viking leaders. Five heirs to lead us into the next era.” The king drew his hand across his neck, and the tent fell silent. “Fresh blood is the marrow of our people. We cannot evolve without the younger generation’s fire, and we cannot survive if we cling to a weak legacy. If a ruling family is found wanting, they aren’t leaders anymore; they are obstacles. And obstacles are meant to be broken.”
“Apart from you, of course,” Adrion whispered, the words hard.
Fear made my neck stiff.
Adrion’s face was cold as he licked blood from his brow off his lips.
Was he drunk? If not, what the fuck was he thinking?
We all grumbled about the king from time to time, especially lately, with all the retaliation from the realms he forced us to invade, but it was done between the safe walls of our home. The thought alone could get Adrion killed.
Shuffling closer to King Gustief, I put myself outof earshot. I wouldn’t seek out my fate in Hel early because of a drunk boy’s need to express himself.
King Gustief drummed his nails against his goblet. “The summer trials will take place over the next two moons. As always, the trials are divided into blood, wood, and steel.”
Three loud cheers followed from the crowd.
The king raised his fist. “First each heir will select their iron-bound—their second, third, and fourth. Their closest men and women, and the ones who will guard their backs throughout the trials and at the Hird, and the rest of their lives.” When the king turned to us, we straightened under his sharp eyes. “I advise you to choose carefully. Blood can be poisonous, and old ties can be chains. The three men or women you are to select will be bound to you until you enter the gates of Valhalla.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Viljan shift. While only part of what the king had said was true for me, I gave a single nod.
Viljan would be my second—the one to take over as heir.
But I’d also have to find a suitable third and fourth. Ones who wouldn’t find a way to turn us in if they learned of the rune that had bled dry on our chests.
I accidentally caught Ottoh’s eyes when I turned my head over my shoulder, and the heir smirked before he asked, “What happens if one of our iron-bound dies at the Hird?”
The king’s grin was slow. “If they fall at the Hird, you fall with them. A leader is only as much as his people, and a broken shield wall protects no one. But if one of the heirs dies”—Gustief took his time to stare down each one of us—“your second will become the new heir for your fylki, and he or she will be able to select a new iron-bound as his fourth.” He lifted his gaze to the rest of the tent. “While the majority of you will not be chosen as these heirs’ iron-bound, you will also go through the Hird. You have been selected out of the five fylkis because of your exceptional skills and strengths. All of you will become warriors. All have a place in our nation. At the end of the summer you will beplaced into one of the five sections at the academy, under one of the five heirs. When you graduate you will follow that heir home, and for many of you that means leaving your old people for a new one.”
I swallowed when heavy stares burned into my back.
Rakkel’s stance wavered for a second as well, and even Ivren’s grin dimmed.
The people in my village—in my father’s chiefdom—were family. The ones surrounding me now? They should not be enemies, but what else could they be when the king painted such a pretty target on our backs? When they had a way to climb to the top of the hierarchy by spilling only one person’s blood?
