So, I did, as Declan kept the small fire in the center of the tent tended, speaking of my homeland, first at the peak of Norway, then the isle off the coast where our people finally settled. I spoke of the sweeping fog-steeped fjords that could bring tears to one’s eyes with their beauty. Of the moody arctic seas that sometimes grew as fierce as a Norwegian warrior and other times as lovely as a gentle maiden.
I talked of everyday life and the celebrations of old. I became a bard, reciting the great feats of our Viking ancestors, and then, lest someone overhear me, I lowered my voice and spoke of battles. The untouchable feeling of a shield and blade in hand. Of whipping an axe through the air. Swinging a sword. The thrill of dancing a battle of blades as old as time, and the rush that came with it.
Then I sang softly for the first time in years, singing songs from our homeland shared around the campfires of my youth. Songs that would carry their hearts across the dark, cold sea back to Scandinavia. To the soaring, white-tipped mountains and the shimmering blue-green lakes nestled in between. To thethick, lush forests and the warm, welcoming villages with their deeply sloped roofs.
Eventually, I grew quiet in the early hours of the morning while still tending them, praying their lives would be spared, however weary I grew. Or at least I thought I did until I stirred awake, not sitting on the edge of one of the men’s cots but nestled on Declan’s lap in the corner, wrapped up in a plaid blanket. His sword rested beside us, where he could easily wield it.
“’Tis all right, lass,” he murmured, wide awake, guarding me just as Lachlann had requested. The first dim light of a rising sun appeared to be washing over the tent. “Something happened, but…” He seemed to struggle with his words. “All is well.”
“What is it?” I whispered, struggling to find my voice at the feeling of being against his warm, strong body. Everything in the tent was just as it had been, so I looked at him in confusion, if not worry that he might have received news of Lachlann as I slept. “What happened? Is your father well?” I rested my hand against his chest, trying to ground myself against all he made me feel. “And how did I…when did I fall asleep?”
“When you were tending one of them,” he said gruffly. His gaze lingered on my hand before he met my eyes again and seemed to marvel at me. “As far as I know, Da is fine. ‘Tis not that…’twas you.” His attention flickered from the fallen warriors and fire back to me. “You and the flames and them. ‘Twas like when we exchanged our vows and the fire seemed to react, only this time…” He shook his head in disbelief. “This time, as if following the sweet lull of your voice, the flames swept over them, gentle and caressing, before ‘twas as though they never left the fire, and all was as it had been.”
Feeling the truth in his words, my inner seer stirred, yet I had no idea what to make of it. Nothing like this had ever happened.
“Then you looked at me and said something,” Declan went on, wrapping me tighter in his arms as if fearing someone might take me from him. “About three souls. About—”
“Three returned for three taken,” I whispered. A chill swept through me as the words slid off my tongue, repeating what felt like a dream. Yet my dreams were more often than not predictions. Foresight.
The magic of my inner seer.
“Aye,” Declan managed. “You said three souls were already crossing over, yet three would be returned and stand by you always. Stand byus, helping to build bridges betwixt our people. Then you collapsed, when moments before you had been so alert.”
“And what do you make of that, given ‘twas my inner seer you witnessed?” I murmured tentatively, praying I hadn’t frightened him despite finding myself on his lap. Or, worse, that he thought I had fabricated the whole thing. I didn’t want to take a step backward with him when it felt like we were gaining ground together.
His eyes never left mine, his gaze not full of hatred or the distrust I feared I might see, but fear that had nothing to do with my seer abilities. Rather, it was a different kind of fear altogether.
“I thought you died, Astrid.” His deep voice thickened with emotion, and he cupped my cheek, searching my eyes as if desperate to make sure I was still here. Still looking back at him. “And I dinnae think I could bear ever seeing such again…feelingsuch.”
Releasing a choppy breath of relief that I felt I’d been holding since we first saw each other, I blinked back tears andswallowed hard. He was not afraid of my gift, of who I was at core, but of losing me. Leaning my cheek into his warm palm, I closed my eyes, relishing the feel of him. The bridge we had crossed this night.
The love I felt blossoming between us.
“’Tis all right,” I whispered, repeating his words. Opening my eyes, I sank into his emerald gaze, lost in the warm, welcoming,lovingway he looked at me now. “I am right here as I always will be.”
“Aye?” he whispered, almost as if he dared not believe it, his lips drawing closer to mine.
“Ja,” I whispered, longing for the moment he finally kissed me. Eager to taste him as I had in my dreams, as his lips grew closer still. Desperate to lose myself in him. Drown in him.
And we were nearly there when he caught the sound of men approaching before I did and swiftly brought me to my feet, steadying me with his hands on my hips, making sure I could stand without issue. After I nodded that I was fine, I promptly attended to one of the warriors, and Declan stood at attention by the door just in the nick of time as King Alexander ducked in.
“How are they?” the king asked, looking at the three men.
“Unchanged.” Resting the flat of my wrist against one of the men’s foreheads, I kept surprise from my face at his reduced fever. “But still alive.”
“Good,” Alexander said, eyeing the men with disinterest before he asked us to join him in his tent to break our fast and left.
“They are still alive, aye?” Declan asked softly, watching me curiously as I went man to man and felt the warmth of their skin.
“Yes,” I exclaimed, keeping my voice down. “If I did not know better, I would say all are improving when such should be impossible.”
Although Declan didn’t say it, I knew, when I glanced his way, that we were thinking the same thing. This was just like Soren surviving a death wound he never should have lived through, yet he had. Add to that what Declan had witnessed in here before I passed out, it stood to reason these men might survive, too.
“’Twas the flames, aye?” he said softly, taking my hand and holding it as if it were something precious. “And these hands.” His gaze lingered on my hand for a moment before he met my eyes. “Your healing hands…your seer magic.”
“Ja,” I said just as softly, taken by the feel of his weapon-roughened touch. The heat and strength of his hand. Yet again, there was no fear in his gaze when we spoke of this. “’Twould certainly seem so.”
“What will you tell the king?” he wondered, his voice still whisper-soft. Concern lit his eyes. “Whilst ‘tis rumored you are a seer, mayhap ‘tis best in these changing times this remain betwixt us for now?”
