“Please help me,” I whispered to the black swells as they brought us closer to what would be either the end or the beginning of my life. “Please help me remain strong so that I may save our people and ensure my father’s legacy lives on.”
A spray of salt water lashed my skin, and air hitched in my lungs when the dampness seeped into my leather tunic and pooled over my heart.
Almost as if it was trying to replace the rune I’d lost.
Two
“We’re late.” I nervously moved my salt-stained hair over a shoulder, squeezing out the water clinging to it as I stood up in the prowling longship.
My heart beat fiercely against my rib cage. The harbor was packed, almost every dock in the dark water filled. We passed warship after warship made out of the different kinds of oak that grew in the north of Nordoen: silver oak with its sleek, almost shining finish, which reflected in our enemies’ eyes and made the ships invisible in certain light; white oak, which was strong enough to break through ice in the winter and easily navigated the storms in the fall, and scarlet oak, where the bloodred leaves left their imprint, making the ships seem like they were bleeding, and which was impenetrable to arrows and spearheads.
A strange melody filled the wind. It seeped like a tide and fell like rain, and it should have been eerie, but the sound filled me with a foreign warmth as it wrapped around me, an insistent pull turning my body to the sea we’d left behind. The humming drifted through me, a mist of voices that tasted of salt and old secrets, and I nearly smiled at the gentleness of it. I wasn’t sure which vessel was making the sound—or whoseit was—but the excitement of its wood vibrated over my skin, and a sense of adventure and belonging coiled around my spine.
We headed to a dock on the far side, to the left of where the Hird was spread out.
A ship made from coveted bog oak—trunks buried beneath water for centuries, turning the wood into the darkest of onyx and making the fastest sailing ships in our realm—lay floating, away from the others.
“Bring us in there,” I said, gesturing to the gap in the line.
Viljan guided our small longship up beside the prow, and its wood groaned as the larger ship met our waves. As we sailed into the shade of the vessel, the sense of being watched pricked the back of my scalp, and an eerie feeling built in my mind—a mixture of anticipation and apprehension and adventure making me adjust my damp leathers.
Every ship around us hummed with life, hushed songs of battles and travel, and whispers of the calling of the Northern Sea tangled in the warm breeze. Their hulls were strong—full of life—and the smells of oil and polish filled my nose as their owners carefully tended to them.
Viljan turned his face down, and I pretended to check my sword, but it did nothing to quell the lump settling in my throat, so instead I took in the grassy flats behind the harbor.
The Hird was even bigger than I’d imagined. Tent after tent breathing swirls of gray from the tops stood in neat rows in an opening in the wild forest, and behind them glittered a black lake that reflected a mountain chain where snow still covered the peaks.
In the midst of the tents was a longhouse—the largest one I’d ever seen, its wooden walls three or four times longer than our warships, with smoke rising out of ten or more holes in the grass-covered roof. Several groups of laughing and chattering people exited, heading to a tent closer to the lake.
There had been eyes on us from the moment we turned the bend in the river, revealing Nordoen, the main island in Skagerik,and more people turned our way as the yellowed field filled with activity. My gut roiled when initiates and thralls ran between the larger tents, yelling for others to hurry up.
The summer-bright dusk was drawing in, and the feast was about to begin.
“I need to go,” I said when drums beat the air, making even the most curious turn around to head toward the main tent, where several hearths were spread out. “They announce the heirs the first night. If I’m not there, the king may choose another.”
“Let me just moor the boat,” Viljan replied. “I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
Another surge of people left the longhouse, and I shook my head.
“You need to make sure no one knows she’s mine. I don’t want any questions about her,” I whispered, nodding to our silent boat. When Viljan still hesitated, I waved my hand over my damp leathers. “I also need to wash up. I doubt the king will be too impressed with the new Sweengard heir if I turn up like this.”
My quip fell flat, but Viljan still made one side of his mouth quirk up. “Don’t worry. You have your story straight—your father and brother are pillaging new land for the crown—and while they’ll be surprised, it’s not the first time an heir has decided to step down.”
It might not have been the first time an heir had stepped down, but it was extremely rare. Being heirs at the Hird, and being granted runes to secure our spots as commanders of sections at the fall academy, was the ultimate honor, making us the elite of the Vikings.
For a people who traded mainly in battle and blood, honor was more than a virtue. It was our lifeblood.
With an inhale, I reached out with a leg to stop our vessel from slamming into the dock, then bent down to tie our ship to the side of it, bracing my feet between land and sea to hold us steady as the strong current rushing beneath us fought our positioning. When our longship stilled, I gave Viljan a final nodbefore walking on shaking legs up the dock toward the crowded field.
The summer air was thick with smoke and anticipation, and faces turned after me as I passed them, their gazes searing my skin. Some were curious, others predatory, and several men turned to each other when I passed, their smug grins doing nothing to help my churning stomach.
Whispers of my name echoed between the tents, but I forced my chin to remain raised, my strides steady.
“Is that thesister?”
“She has her father’s hair.”
“What are the Sweengards up to?”
