He was the reason I’d done everything I had since coming here.
He was the reason I’d becomethis. I’d done it all for him.
Darcke’s eyes were locked on mine, and I was a heartbeat from lunging at Ivren when a predatory stillness settled over the warrior. The shift was so violent that Torden’s face went pale, his own gaze a frantic command for me to retreat.
Ottoh looked as confused as I did, and the lack of arrogancein his fading smirk was almost worse than the pity filling Rakkel’s eyes.
“Come on,” Rakkel mumbled as the warriors came closer. “Stop this before it’s too late.”
It felt like my heart might escape my rib cage when Viljan finally reached Ivren and accepted the dagger the heir offered him.
“No,” I whispered.
Viljan looked up, and I’d never seen his face so pale.
“Do it,” Ivren ordered.
Everyone could hear the shaking in his voice, but I didn’t care. I wanted to kill him at that moment. I didn’t care if he was Lika’s best friend. I didn’t care that he’d saved me.
“Elvara!” I finally stumbled backward when Rakkel tugged at me.
The five warriors halted, although their gazes were all trained on me. As if I was the one in the wrong. My throat ached and stung, and I stared as if in a trance when Viljan lifted the dagger. When his blood dripped into the Solsken fire, red exploded across the sky, joining Odin’s green.
“Thor approves,” the king said as silence fell over the glen.
Fire sparked, red flames licking the air, and I hated the gods then. I hated everyone here. I hated that I’d become this—that I’d sacrificed everything—only to fail at the last moment.
I didn’t hear who Ivren chose next, barely registered how his fire grew so large a red hue was cast over every person before me before it consumed the wood with a sharp crack that should have made me jerk but did little more than blow my hair back, away from my face.
“Elvara Sweengard.” The king’s voice boomed across the field. “It’s your turn to choose.”
Twenty-One
Rakkel had to shove me forward, and I nearly fell before the warriors as I walked up to the western fire. Ivren and Viljan were both turned my way still, but I kept my gaze on the flames, on the orange and red that used to remind me of warm winters at our hearth but now only taunted me.
Would the gods claim my life today? Or would they wait until whoever I chose as my second did it for them when they found out about my magic?
Would Viljan have time to send word to my mother?
Would she be able to escape with my siblings before a new chief came to kill them?
As I stared out at the people before me, I saw familiar faces from home in every pair of green eyes, every shade of red hair, and every curved mouth. My heart pounded in my ears as I imagined my people finding out how I’d failed. How they wouldn’t be able to defend themselves against the Viking clans coming to enslave them. How the hope that had shone in all eyes but my mother’s would be killed along with me.
Someone cleared their throat. There was something urgent and tight around Ilse’s mouth when I looked up, and she moved her hand, forming a fist over her heart before lifting it into the air.
“Elvara Sweengard, you need to choose.” The king’s voice sounded as if from far away.
Other hands, lifted in the same promised goodbye, etched themselves into my mind.
My mother might have given up hope, but my people hadn’t. It had been clear when they stood on the docks, filled with sorrow but unyielding as they wished me courage on my journey. They would cling to that hope until the last moment, because it was the only thing we had left.
I took a breath of salty air.
Who was I to give up when my lungs still moved, when my soul still yearned, when my limbs still worked?
I fueled my body with more air. Slowly, my chin lifted. Then my eyes focused. My back straightened, and my ears filled with the sounds of hundreds of beating hearts, of fire and sea and life.
I might have trusted the wrong person, and I might not have much hope left.
