At the end of the long tunnel, the group emerged into a wide plaza filled with people. Jotun children as large as human adults played beneath colorful canopies. Weavers worked beside musicians, while men and women chatted in small groups.
“Your horses must remain here,” the lead warrior instructed.
Sigurd swung down from the saddle, but he hesitated with a hand on Geri’s reins. “My—”
“They will be treated kindly and fed. We bear no ill will against animals for the errors of their masters.”
“All right.”
As they continued through the city on foot, Bryn gave up trying to hide her curiosity. She freely looked around, meeting the gazes of those who stopped and watched their passing. Even Sigurd craned his neck when they passed a jotun girl with an enormous eagle on her arm.
Nothing she saw made her think the jotuns were the warring, bloodthirsty race they were depicted as in old legends and stories. She saw laughter and life. Happiness on every corner.
“This way,” their guide directed, leading them up wide stone steps to the palace. Bryn paused a moment to gaze upward, awed not only by its beauty, but by its location. No walls or gardens separated the people from their rulers.
The palace could have been sculpted from ice, its every inch sparkling gloriously under the noon sun. She touched a glittering wall, finding warm crystal. Inside was even more magnificent. Her breath caught as they passed through a dozen rainbows refracted through the translucent gemstones in the hall, the colors scattered in every direction.
Their guard stopped at a silver door and turned to face her. “King Thrym awaits within.”
“You’re not coming with us?” she asked.
The jotun folded his arms over his chest. “Our king needs no protection. If you lied about your intentions, he will strike you down himself.”
A second guard chuckled and pulled open the door. Sigurd met her gaze and dipped his chin slightly, a silent acknowledgement that no matter what happened, he was behind her.
More rainbows illuminated the throne room, slanting down from crystalline stalactites in the cavernous ceiling. Colorful mosaics covered the walls, murals that could have been their history or perhaps stories. As interesting as they were, her attention was drawn to the giant throne and the jotun seated upon it.
This king, while imposing and equally massive, was not the same jotun of the ancient memory shown to her by Frigga. While his race was long-lived, they lacked the lifespan of the distant elves across the ocean. He wore his silver hair loose around his broad shoulders, surrounding a handsome face with chiseled features. An easygoing smile surfaced on his face, at odds with the stoic soldiers who had taken her and Sigurd into custody.
“It is not often that anyone from the Hotlands visits with noble intentions, and yet my general brings me news that you have come to offer an alliance.” He leaned forward, his intense eyes boring through her. “Do tell why I should not have the both of you dashed to pieces on the cliffs below.”
Bryn dove right to the point. “King Gunnar plans to bring war to your kingdom.”
“He always threatens. This is not news to us.”
“This time he has both the means and the will to conquer you. He needs access to the eastern sea so he can seek allies in distant lands. He hopes to attack Eisland and Samahara, using the northern strait. Then, ships from his foreign allies will reach the Viridian Sea.”
“He wants to reclaim this area,” Sigurd added, “and he plans on using magic to do it.”
“Magic has little effect on us.”
“Perhaps so, but the Liangese have developed ways to rain fire and explosives down on the mountains. Your people will be buried beneath their homes.”
King Thrym leaned forward and studied them in silence for a long moment. Then he leaned back, steepling his fingers together. “You desire the aid of my people to reclaim what has been taken from you.”
“Yes.”
“And what will you give in return, fallen queen?”
“The might of my father and our allies stands behind us. We will help defend Jotunheim from Gunnar’s forces.”
“If my people are to bleed for yours, I must know the benefit exceeds the cost.”
“It will. Should we survive the conflict, we’ll cede Northreach to Jotunheim, and all of the north shall be yours.”
“That is not enough.”
“I have nothing more to offer without turning my citizens from their homes.”
“You do.”
Thrym’s smile chilled her. A sinking sensation plummeted to the bottom of Bryn’s belly. “What would that be, Your Majesty?”
“Your hand will suffice. Let us make one unified kingdom.”
The frozen palace’s guest chamber made Sigurd’s room in Steinblomst Keep plain by comparison. He gazed out the window and watched a blacksmith in the courtyard below as he crafted a pot.
Just then, Bryn knocked on the door. He recognized the familiar cadence of her knuckles and walked over to let her in.
Gods, every time he looked at her took his breath away. She stood in her tunic and breeches, hair no longer in its many braids, instead resting loose over her shoulders. The one thing—the only thing—he wanted to do was draw her close and kiss her. But it was the one action he dared not take while they remained under Thrym’s protection. Instead, he took her hand and kissed her knuckles, the one small token of affection he could give.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, drawing her inside and closing the door behind her.
“Yes. No.” She laughed, a mirthless, almost bitter sound. “This wasn’t what I expected when I came seeking help.”
“We knew there would be a cost, Bryn. Nothing ever comes for free.”
“Yes, but this?” She paced to the window and looked out. “I don’t know what to do, Sigurd. I escaped one marriage and had no plans to rush into another. I am a free woman once more, and able to do as I please.”
“The choice is ultimately yours. You have to do what your heart feels is right.”
“I know exactly what my heart wants, but…” She sighed and turned to face him. “What are your thoughts on the matter? What would you tell me to do?”
“I don’t want you to do it,” Sigurd admitted, sick at the idea of losing her, of watching her wed to another man when all he’d wanted for the past year of his life was to be the one who made her smile. “But this choice isn’t mine, Brynhildr. You are the one who has to live with the consequences.”
“I know.”
Sigurd took her hands and squeezed them. “Regardless of your choice, I’ll stand alongside you, and I will fight to the end.” Though it would destroy him inside, he would hold to his vow.
“How do I make such a choice? To refuse would be to condemn my people to a terrible war—a slaughter, to be honest—but to accept would mean I’m trapped again.”
“It would.”
“I am selfish, I know.”
“No, you are human. It is human to consider your own wellbeing and future.” Sigurd bit his tongue. She’d already given herself to one man who hadn’t deserved her.
“I’m glad to hear you say as much. Still, I wish it hadn’t come down to this choice. I truly thought they would help.”