Land of Fury, page 20
“She is shite with a sword,” he mutters. “But Harald’s men—” Reider cringes. “Did you see them—an arrow through one’s eye and lodged in the throat of the other? My eye is twitching just talking about it.” He elbows me. “We could use another archer in the crew,” he jests.
“You say that,” I warn him. “But all of your egos could not stand a princess at your side with a truer aim than yours.” I smirk, and Reider chuckles in agreement. “I have asked Liv to make her another bow,” I confess. “The other was lost in the stampede, and I will not leave the princess defenseless.”
Reider sighs, his eyes boring into me.
“Kornish will not be welcoming,” I continue. “Not after what Harald’s men pulled last winter. So, we will ride through the Southern Pass.”
“There are many hidden villages in that area. Many that are not friendly,” Reider adds. “And you know how I feel about the bog lands.” He shudders a little at the thought.
“You are too superstitious, my friend,” I say with a widening grin.
“And you are not superstitious enough. At least you will take extra care, since we have the princess with us.”
His words are true, and I grin wider. Both of us watch the princess and Kaldr below, their clacking swords slowing the more breaks they take.
“So,” Reider continues, crossing his arms over his chest. “When are you going to tell her?”
The princess growls in frustration as Kaldr bests her again on the other side of the longhouse. “Tell her about what?”
“That you did all of this for her?” he says, gesturing around the longhouse.
I frown, watching the way Kaldr slows his movements when he should push the princess harder. “Who says it has all been for her?”
Reider glowers. “You forget I have known you longest and have seen your moods change. Just like I have seen the way you look at her. All of us have. Everything that has happened over the past five years is because of Remembrance Day.” Reider shakes his head. “She is more than the princess and preferred queen to you. Lying to me and yourself does not change that.”
This time, I glare at him.
“All the things you do not say give you away,” Reider explains. “And as your friend, it falls on me to point out the fact that you say you want Thora to be queen, but you still treat her like everyone else does.”
“Explain,” I tell him, affronted that he would lump me in with everyone else who has misjudged her worth.
“You are still keeping secrets from the princess and treating her like a naive little girl. If you keep protecting her from everything, she will never realize her strength. And whatever comes next,” he says, his voice low so she and Kaldr cannot hear, “it will not be easy. She will have to become a warrior in her own right. And despite what you tell yourself, you will not always be there to protect her.”
Reider’s words don’t sit right with me, and suddenly, I feel the effects of every single battle, every kill and wound, and I know he is right.
“She needs to want this path for herself as much as you want it for her, friend.” He clasps my shoulder. “And she deserves to know about Talon Bay, too.” With a sigh, Reider continues up the stairs. “I’m riding out with Rom and Fiske to hunt for tonight’s feast.”
“In this storm?”
“Liv says a herd of caribou are just over the ridge.” He returns with his face wrap, to shield the brunt of the blizzard. “I would say wish me luck, but we both know I will not need it.” Flashing me a smirk, Reider stalks down the steps and through the hall. He breaks up Thora and Kaldr’s sparring circle, dodging them with his palms up in feigned supplication, as if he’ll be struck through with one of their swords. Grabbing his cloak and bow, he heaves the heavy doors open and disappears out into the cold.
The longer I watch Kaldr going easy on the princess of Norseland, instead of pushing her limits or giving her direction, the more riled and impatient I become. Reider is right about many things. Foremost, that Thora will have to protect herself. I’ve spent so many years at a distance, preparing for what comes next, I’ve neglected teaching her how to properly defend herself. And just as I won’t always be at her side to protect her, neither will her bow.
“Enough,” I tell them, and I jog down the steps.
Both Kaldr and Thora straighten, their faces sober with confusion, their cheeks flushed from exertion, and their chests heaving. Thora’s eyes are bright, and sweat gleams on her brow, but her open expression fades as I draw closer.
“If you are going to learn, you need proper instruction,” I explain, gesturing for Kaldr’s sparring sword. “You are weaker with your left arm, princess. Lead with your right until you optimize your swing and precision hits.”
She glowers at me. “You are going to teach me to use a sword?”
I nod, relishing the light that fills her eyes at the idea. Leaning in, I whisper into Kaldr’s ear, “Get the targets ready in the barn for archery practice, would you?” He nods and quickly heads for his cloak at the door.
Thora watches him hurry from the hall, her eyebrow lifting curiously.
“Pay attention, princess,” I say, taking a sparring stance. “I will not be as forgiving as Kaldr.”
“That was him being forgiving?” she says with a dark laugh. “Wonderful.”
I smirk. “Now, there are seven crucial things to remember in sword fighting,” I start.
“Only seven?” she mutters.
I turn the hilt of the sword, finding the best grip. It’s deceptively heavy, and that the princess is still up for more instruction only makes me prouder. “The first thing is physical conditioning,” I tell her. “Everything from back to abdomen strengthening, even your wrists.” I point to hers with the tip of my sword, and she automatically grips the hilt tighter. “Luckily, your archery has helped with your strength. But you must also have an awareness of your surroundings,” I continue. Taking a quick step toward her, I press the blunt tip into her shoulder.
Thora knocks it away, and when I act as if I’m going to strike high, I dip down and bat her legs through the fabric of her dress. “Swordplay is an art of deception, because in a sword fight, there are no rules. Assuming someone will have any etiquette or show any leniency is the surest way to get yourself killed.”
As we circle each other, Thora’s eyes are wide and assessing, anticipating what I might do next.
“Always show confidence, and be unpredictable at all times while planning your timing and distance, because if you are going to strike someone, princess, you must be close enough to actually hit your opponent, which is harder than it looks.”
Thora blows a strand of hair from her face. “I thought you said this is supposed to be difficult?” she jests. “And that was more like nine or ten things I have to remember.”
I clank her sword and motion for her to fall into stance in front of me. “You have said yourself, everything in this life is hard, princess. That wooden sparring stick in your hand is five times lighter than a real sword.”
In two steps and one fell swoop, I knock the sword from Thora’s hold and it clatters to the ground. The tip of mine nudges her into the post at her back. She’s left with nowhere to go as I step closer, until we’re chest to chest.
“And above all else,” I breathe, “you must always use caution and common sense. Never underestimate the warrior in front of you.” I try and fail not to notice she smells of bell heather, and bread, from helping Liv in the kitchen this morning.
Thora’s tongue darts out, and my eyes flick to her mouth as she wets her upper lip and slowly rakes her teeth over her bottom one. It’s tantalizing. All-consuming. But my distraction rescinds as a sharp blade presses against my groin.
Eyes widening, I look down to find a small dagger in Thora’s hand.
A smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “You mean, sort of like this,” she practically purrs. Thora taps the blade lightly against me, and a full grin fills her face.
I can’t help but chuckle at the little minx. “Yes, like that.”
Thora’s smile lingers, and every male part of me stirs once more; it’s all I can do not to glance at her mouth again. Forcing myself to take a step back, I glimpse at her sword on the ground. “Come on, then. We have a lot of practice to get in before we feast.”
“Feast?”
Nodding, I lift my hand, showing her a proper hold.
“A feast for what?”
“To honor the princess of Norseland.” Her gaze fills with apprehension. After the unwelcome reception she saw in Everwall, I understand her concern to meet more people here.
“There are nearly sixty villagers living here,” I explain in a rush, knowing this is what Reider wanted me to do—be open with her. “This place would not exist if not for you. They know it and wish to honor you for that.”
Thora shakes her head. “I do not under—”
“Come on now,” I say, lifting my sword. “No distractions. There will be no time for questions on the battlefield.”
Cowardice, it seems, comes in all forms, because I’ve killed men twice my size without cowering in the slightest, but with those big, green eyes widening in understanding, it’s all I can do not to run away.
30
THORA
The hall smells of savory meat and rosemary. Of sweat and ale and woodsmoke. It’s filled with more laughter than I’ve heard in all my life combined, and there are smiling faces everywhere I look. Even Zander smiles tonight, and his eyes shimmer with mirth. He doesn’t overindulge like the others, but I can tell he’s permitting himself a night of enjoyment, which is something I don’t think he allows himself often.
How exhausting his charades must be. The web of lies and secrets I still know so little about. Every single thread intricately woven so that if one were to unravel, they all likely would.
There are over fifty people in the hall tonight, come out of their homes in the blizzard to feast and celebrate. Only Liv and Kaldr have familiar faces, but every pair of eyes that lands on me, every bow of their heads and whisper of gratitude that I don’t deserve, makes me feel unexpectedly humble.
I meet Zander’s ice-blue gaze across the fire and feel my cheeks warm as his words replay from earlier today. “This place would not exist if not for you.”
Dane, serious and grumpy as he is, has the loudest, most contagious laugh of the entire village, booming through the hall and snagging my attention.
“You think you are better than me?” he says to a little boy named Caleb. A drunken laugh rumbles out of him.
“I do!” Caleb sings back.
“I do not believe it. Not with my coordination and skill.”
At first, I think they are speaking of sparring, until a woman with straight blonde hair, about twenty, brings out two potatoes.
“What in the . . .” I chuckle.
“No cheating now,” Dane says, holding his hands behind his back. “First one to the edge wins.”
I lean into Elof beside me as he curses his son’s stupidity, enjoying every moment.
“Yes, princess?” His eyes flick to me as he rubs his bushy gray eyebrow.
“Where are these villagers from?”
Elof glances at the tables of people, many of them older, but there are several children as well. “Some are from the burned lands to the south, others from the east. But many of them came here from Winterwood five years ago.”
I stare at him, blinking as I do the math, which only confirms what I’d suspected. “Remembrance Day?” I confirm.
Elof nods. “Aye. We got as many of the villagers out as we could—at least those Liv said we could trust.”
“Because Zander swore he would not hurt them.” I whisper the realization aloud. “So, he saved them.” For me. It seems self-absorbed to think such a thought after years of doubting Zander. And yet, deep down, I know that’s the truth.
Elof chuckles, distracted as he watches Dane and Caleb, nudging their potatoes to the edge of the table with their chins. I don’t pay attention to their games, though. I’m too busy looking around the hall as so many of the pieces come together.
“Was that your doing—the horsemen’s, I mean. The rebellion in the church that day?”
Elof drinks from his horn and runs his bottom teeth over his bushy mustache. “No, princess. We would not have risked your life, or the lives of so many villagers.” When he looks at me, I see the resentment in his eyes—a part of him that holds my family responsible for a loss I don’t dare ask about. “But the crown does not lack enemies. And we have been bringing folks here when we can, ever since.”
Emotion swells in my chest, bubbling up into my throat, and I have to swallow it away.
Liv appears through the raucous crowd, heading for me with something large and wrapped in a blanket in her arms.
She smiles at me as she draws closer, and my heartbeat quickens as the merriment dies down. Unease ripples through me as everyone’s attention shifts to me.
“We heard you lost something on your journey here,” Liv explains as I rise to meet her. My eyes shift furtively around the crowd of expectant faces. Zander thinks I can be a queen, but I can barely stand here without squirming under the gaze of a single room.
Liv holds out her arms, her expression soft and full of a gratitude I do not deserve.
I don’t know why, but I seek Zander out, looking for him. When I find him across the firepit, leaning against a post, he nods for me to accept her gift.
“I—” I don’t know what to say, so I lick my lips and lift the blanket. My hand flies to my mouth as I see a beautifully carved bow and a new quiver. It’s similar to the one she made so many years ago, but the handle is wrapped with decorative leathers and the runes aren’t only singed into the quiver, but carved along the curve of the bow as well.
“It is beautiful,” I tell her. “This must have taken you weeks to make.”
“I have been working on it for years, actually. A rune for every year my son and I have been here, in this sanctuary. Thanks to you, Your Highness.”
Her brown eyes shimmer with sincerity, and I can’t help my blurring vision. “You did not have to do this,” I whisper. “But I am truly grateful.”
“As are we.”
“It is Zander and the horsemen you should thank,” I say louder, looking at all the villagers in the room. “They are the ones who have sacrificed their lives for you, not me.”
I’m too awed to care that everyone is watching as I study her impressive craftsmanship. “They continue to risk their lives and the wrath of the queen to save you.”
“All because of a promise,” Kaldr says, coming to stand beside his mother.
Karra does the same, which surprises me, and I realize in that moment that I think she means to stay here. My heart feels heavy as her eyes linger on mine with a silent apology, or perhaps it’s an explanation. But even if it saddens me at first, it’s only for selfish reasons. I understand why she would want to remain here, and I offer her a watery smile.
“We offer you a promise in return, Your Highness,” Liv continues. “Should you ever need us, we would answer your call. We would house you and give you sanctuary. All you need to do is ask.”
I wipe away the tear that breaches my lashes.
Kaldr sets the bow and quiver aside, and I barely know what to say.
“This is unnecessary,” I tell them. “But it means more than you know.” I pull Liv against me, clutching hold of her. “You saved my life that day,” I whisper into her ear, though it’s more of a raspy sob. “You have already paid your debt.”
“It is no debt,” Liv murmurs, her arms finally coming around me. “It is fealty.”
Pulling away, I blink at her.
“You are a princess—a queen—and we would gladly follow you.”
I want to laugh and ask her if Zander put her up to this. But the sea of dutiful faces sobers me, and when I look around for Zander, he is nowhere to be found.
31
THORA
Despite the late hour, the festivities still boom throughout the hall. My mind is a muddled mess of gratitude, frustration, and a sort of confused understanding as Kaldr helps me gather a bowl of hot water and rags before I search for Zander.
When I spot Odin sprawled out on the balcony on my way up, I assume Zander is inside one alcove. Though I hesitate to bother him, uncertain what sort of reception I’ll receive, I tell myself I don’t care. I am the princess, and I am tired of being resentful and confused.
I expect Zander’s drapes to be drawn, but when I reach Odin, his master is inside with the curtains gathered, sitting on the pallet of furs and blankets. His boots are off, his vest is unbuckled, and his shirt is loose but not removed, as if he hasn’t gotten that far yet. With his elbows braced on his knees, Zander stares at the obsidian stone I gave him when we were young.
The way he gazes at it, so contemplative I think he might bore a hole through it, makes my stomach somersault.
“You are not much for festivities.”
Zander’s head snaps to me and he rises to his feet. “Princess—”
“Not princess,” I tell him. “Thora.” I lift the bowl. “And I brought you rags and hot water for your evening compress.”
“You—” His brow crumples in dejection. “That is nothing you have to worry about,” he says gruffly.
“I know, but I do—I wanted to bring it to you.” I pretend I don’t notice him tucking the stone into his waistband and I set the bowl down on the trunk. “You are very good at hiding your pain,” I muse. “But you slipped once tonight—a grimace at the table.” I gesture for him to remove his shirt.
“Princess—”
I glare at him.
“Thora,” he says begrudgingly.
“Let me help you, Zander,” I whisper, taking a step closer. I peer into his eyes, feeling the gravity of his actions over the years acutely. Every torturous decision he’s made has been at his own expense, and I want more than anything to give him something in return. “After all I have learned in the past few days—after all you have done—this is the least I can do.” When he opens his mouth to argue, I shake my head. “No—I insist.”
