Stomp.
“Wood.”
Stomp.
“Steel.”
Stomp.
“These are the foundations of life in the North.” The king threw out his thick fur coat, and I adjusted my own lighter one. I hadn’t known Viljan had packed it until I found it this morning at the bottom of my satchel; it had a thick collar made from silver fox, with four tails hanging down my shoulders. “A warrior cannot live without either. An heir needs their blood to survive. Your iron-bound are more important than our seas for travel, our blades for battle, and our wood for ships. You are but the blood you rule.”
Ivren scoffed, and I gave him a warning look as the king took a short pause.
“He’s such a hypocrite,” Ivren whispered into my ear. “As if he treats our lives fairly.”
I stared straight ahead. I’d heard the grumblings about the king before—how he forced us to make more enemies and how his thirst for expanding our borders made our seas more dangerous than was necessary—but only between the safety of my home’s four walls. This was not the place to air grievances.
“Today the five heirs—Ottoh Briggen, Ivren Solsken, Elvara Sweengard, Geord Palsjo, and Rakkel Rafenskol—will choose their inner circle.” The king addressed us directly, and my mouth twisted when Ottoh wiped at his face to rid himself of the blood trickling down his chin. “You shall speak your choice in the order your names are summoned. Once a name leaves your lips, it is etched in yourwyrd. There is no reclaiming a spoken vow. The bonding between you and your second will take place tomorrow, and once the bond is sealed, each heir will share their family’s magic with them until the gods offer you your own rune. You will need your shared power to survive the next two suns—to collect your steel and wood—and to breathe until you walk into the gods’ halls to be reckoned.”
Another horn was blown, the sound bouncing against the waterfall and the surrounding mountains as the wind picked it up and played with it, bringing it far and wide across the island.
When I wrung my hands, Viljan finally looked at me.
I didn’t move, but I tried to convey my appreciation through my eyes. I would disappoint two initiates during the bonding, binding them to me, stealing their safety in exchange for a power I didn’t possess. But Viljan, my guard, my friend, my shadow, would be there. And if I met the end, regardless of which realm claimed me, I could rest easy knowing I was leaving my people in Viljan’s hands.
“Should the gods find the heir wanting, the second shall rise,” the king continued. “He or she shall strip the heir’s breath and name—the sacrificial price of claiming the favor the first was too weak to hold.”
Viljan’s eyes rounded, and I turned my gaze to my boots.
I’d suspected he didn’t know. But this was better. He couldn’t go back on his vow now.
“Briggen,” the king called. “Make your choices.”
The crowd quieted. Water trickling from the waterfall hit the lake’s surface, creating its own rhythmic drumming in the night. Ottoh’s sister stood beside two men, each of them straightening as the initiates made space for them.
Ottoh’s nose was still red when he took a step forward, but his voice was clear as he called, “For my second, I choose Vero Briggen.”
As his twin sister stepped forward, the fire in the middle roared, the flames spearing high into the skyand sparks whirling in the air. Vero’s strides were steady as she walked up to it. With a small bone-handled dagger, she cut her hand and let two drops splatter onto the burning wood.
A gasp went through the karls, and my head tilted backward, awe spreading in my chest.
The sky went bright green, its reflection glittering over the water.
“Eldbron,” Rakkel whispered, and all of us felt the reverence in her voice.
“The gods are watching tonight,” Ivren whispered.
The lights in the sky were the burning bridge to Valhalla—the one Odin opened only when the gods were restless. The choosing wasn’t usually an event for the gods—not like the sacrificial holidays we hosted—but perhaps with enemies stirring in our world, they sought to ensure each iron-bound was forged from the same virtues as our ancestors.
“At least Odin is,” Geord mumbled. “The green is his mark. What an honor for Ottoh.”
The three heirs shared a look, but I kept my focus on Ottoh as he announced his third and fourth—two men whom I’d seen around him but hadn’t paid much attention to.
The green lights shone brighter for every drop of blood dripping into Ottoh’s fire—three drops for his third, and four for his fourth. When the final drop vanished into steam, Ottoh’s entire fire turned green, spluttering and screaming until it consumed every piece of kindling and wood it drew from, and snuffed itself out.
It became so quiet I didn’t even dare shift my weight when Ottoh’s circle surrounded him, each one standing proudly beside the blond heir as he bowed to the sky before cupping his mouth with his hands and letting out a cry that had birds escaping from the closest tree.
A strange smile lifted the king’s lips before he turned to us once more. “Solsken, your turn.”
