I felt my shoulders lower. When I opened my eyes again, Darcke was still glaring at me, and I gave the bastard a questioninglook—one he’d surely describe as rude—before focusing on the king’s second.
“We’re doing things a little differently this year,” Guner said. “At the academy, you’re expected to know how to handle your weapons, how to build and steer a ship, and how to fight each other. The next two weeks before the heirs select their second, we need to establish a baseline.” He laughed to himself. “What better way than to do it right away? You’re fostered in the Hird to become the best and most ruthless warriors there are—to bring more prosperous land under King Gustief’s rule—and so the most important skills will be surviving until you can do so.”
A low, predatory rumble rippled through the ranks, shaking the very planks of the ship. The war chant vibrated deep in my marrow, awakening the promise each Viking made to our people: that we’d brave foreign seas and bleed upon the same salt-stained decks, bound to each other until Valhalla called our names.
The ship lunged forward with such a violent surge that everyone stumbled, causing a deeper shiver in my bones—a thirst for sea and fate and bonds made in blood that my father had instilled in me. I turned from the shrinking land and the dark sea surrounding it, and faced forward once more—toward wherever this vessel was taking us.
“While we won’t send you into battle for our borders until you’ve graduated, we are going to simulate the conditions.” Guner pointed to the north, where thick clouds rested over a group of shadowed islands. “You will all be dropped off at Svartoarna. You are each to collect a silver arm ring—your guarantee to continue in the trials. Should you survive, we’ll expect you back at the end of the week. Anyone who hasn’t returned by then is assumed to have given up their right as an initiate.”
Low murmurs—different from those of battle and glory—rose across the ship.
“He can’t be serious,” Rakkel breathed.
Even with the clear sky above us, when the deck quieted, arumble split the air. Above the islands, more thick dark clouds gathered, casting the isles in eerie darkness.
I pressed my hands against my thighs. Svartoarna was rumored to be cursed—islands where the sun never speared the dark woods. There were not only bears and wolves to watch out for but lynx and other felines that had grown larger than adult men.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. King Gustief used the islands as his own personal prison—where he sent traitors and enemies and whoever he pleased, to try to stay alive.
Our ship headed straight toward the circle of other vessels that floated around them, armed with bows and daggers and other weapons to keep the men and women on the islands from swimming away.
My knees started trembling so hard they snapped together, but I locked them.
At least I’d had a whole week’s practice sneaking around in the woods to keep my head on my body. And I’d fought enemies before. It wasn’t ideal that I didn’t have my blade, but my father had sent me into battle unarmed as practice.
I measured the distance from the dark islands back to Nordoen.
It would be a long swim, but it was summer, and there were smaller isles—some of which we were passing now—that we could stop at to rest. It shouldn’t take more than two or three days. I’d have plenty of time.
When Guner smiled at us, the hair on my arms rose. “I should mention. You’ll be tied by the wrist with another initiate. If the rope is broken when you return, if Darcke or one of his guards sees you untie it to cheat, or if your partner dies, we’ll view you as a traitor to your people, and punish you thereafter.”
It went entirely quiet.
Guner’s grin couldn’t have been wider in his wrinkled face. “Blood and wood and steel. All shall deem you worthy.” He staredat me for a second before turning to the other heirs. “What good is a vow to die for your iron-bound if you don’t live long enough to prove it?” Guner licked his lips. “Your wyrd is no longer your own. It is now braided with the person beside you. To survive, you must follow in the footsteps of those that came before you.”
Twelve
“Want to do it together?” Rakkel asked.
I nodded. We were about the same height, and while she had more muscle, I wasn’t skin and bones yet. Thankfully, for my entire life until this week, I’d eaten well, and although I hadn’t expected to be the heir, I’d trained almost every day with Viljan.
Even though I didn’t trust Rakkel, she’d warned me last night, and that warning might have been the difference between me standing here today and my dead body lying on the bottom of the sea.
A suffocating hush fell over the ship when everyone started pairing up. Guner, Darcke, and several other warriors walked around, securing wrists together with thick leather bands.
Viljan was still blocked by another group of Guner’s men, although they were struggling to keep him back, so I made a motion toward Rakkel. He stilled for a second, and from how Rakkel shuffled a step backward, he must have offered her one of his famed glares.
My eyes shot to the sunny sky when Viljan spun to Rakkel’s guard and dragged the man to his side by the seam of his tunic.The Rafenskol guard flashed his teeth at Viljan before shaking off his arm, but he did remain by his side.
“Your guard isn’t the most polite, is he?” Rakkel laughed quietly. “Stefen looks friendlier than he is, so that man of yours needs to watch it unless he wants an axe to cleave his chest.”
I had no doubt Viljan could take the dark-haired guard with the thick stubble, who was almost a head shorter than he was, even if he was thick with corded muscle, but I wasn’t about to paint a target on the man I planned to be the new chief of our village. So instead of offering her a quip back—hopefully her guard had the good sense not to rile up mine too much—I forced a chuckle.
Rakkel’s paling cheeks were the only warning before a tall figure cast us in shadow.
“Wrists,” Darcke demanded with that snide twist of his lips.
My weak smile melted off my face as I stuck out my hand his way. When Rakkel did the same, Darcke took a short piece of rope from his belt, but as the cool hide touched our skin, Guner shouted, “No heirs together.”
