“Wait a minute, you only received my message a week ago. How did you get the fleet moving so fast?”
“Truthfully, we were already prepared. The seas have been dangerous and we’ve been planning to mount a rescue at the opportune moment anyway.”
“For me?”
“Of course for you, and for anyone else left behind. Did you really think Joren and I would be content, knowing you were still out there? I’m just so damned glad to see you’re safe. I thought for sure…” Cara glanced away and swiped at her eyes.
“I’m fine. Really I am.”
“It figures that I’d find you at the center of a war.” She managed a weak smile. “Thank you for keeping him safe, Queen Brynhildr.”
“It was the right thing to do,” Bryn replied.
“What happens now?”
“Can you take this mirror with you?” Cara asked.
“It’s a little big to travel with but I could break a shard off I suppose.”
“Hm…might work, but a broken mirror might mess things up some. Never mind, then. Just keep an eye out for mirrors or even pools of water in case I try to reach you again. Otherwise I’ll send Minuet to pass on a message. I’ll let the others know what’s going on and we can coordinate further.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Good. Now tell me everything, you two, and don’t leave anything out.”
Chapter 19
Bryn and Sigurd received a heroic welcome at the gates of Koldgrun, though it felt undeserved. The celebration carried on from the curtain wall surrounding the hold to the stables at the base of the mountain bracing her father’s keep. Moments after their arrival, runners had dashed ahead with word of their return.
Everyone would know of it by now.
They would have gazed out the windows, expecting an army worthy of Jotunheim and seen nothing.
They would know her incompetence may have cost the war.
No, Bryn chastised herself immediately. This is no fault of mine. She had done all that was possible, and the outcome of her parlay with the giants meant only that the Ridaeron Dynasty’s fate was in Ridaeron hands.
Silently, Sigurd traveled the mountain road alongside her and entered the huge stone doors already standing open.
“Welcome back, my queen,” chorused both sentries.
Bryn appreciated the inviting warmth of Staerkvaeg Keep’s main hall after their long, cold, and fruitless journey. She didn’t regret turning down Thrym’s offer, but she did regret the failure to gain his support through other means. Not that he’d given her much choice.
“I wonder what they’ll think when I tell them I turned down the jotuns.”
Sigurd had been quiet for most of the journey through the city. He wore his exhaustion on his face, but otherwise stood tall beside her. He slanted his gaze at her and put on an empty smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“It doesn’t matter what they think. This war can be won without aid from the giants. They’re all proud men, aren’t they? Appeal to their pride and remind them that we can fight for our home without help.”
“It is not the fighting that worries me. I am confident I can gain their support, especially when they learn what Gunnar has done. But should we win the day, there are changes I plan to make. Changes they will not like.”
“Are they the changes I suspect you will make?” He cocked one brow and slowed his pace beside her. Many times, they had discussed the matter of slavery in the Ridaeron Dynasty. All other kingdoms of the Compact had abolished the vile practice. “If so, Brynhildr, it is a matter to discuss with them presently.”
“As I intend to, and my worry is that we’ll lose support because of it.” She sighed. “But better to know now who will stand with my ideals and who will not.”
“We may lose support, but better to know your enemy now than face another war down the road. If anyone can persuade these jarls about the benefit of freeing all persons within the kingdom, it’s you. Appeal to their pride.” He moved closer until their hips brushed, and slipped an arm around her waist.
“So you’ve said. But prideful men are also proud of their number of thralls. I will have to show them we can do better without slave labor.” She leaned in, comforted by his warm presence at her side. “It will not be an easy task. You will be my example, so make me proud.”
Sigurd only smiled. “Have I not already done that?” Leaning closer, he brushed his lips against her cheek and traced her jawline, lingering when he reached her ear. “No matter what happens during this council, I’m equally proud of you, Bryn.”
“You have. You do. I merely hope the jarls see what I see.” She leaned into his touch, wishing they could run away somewhere quiet and forsake all responsibility. But the jarls waited, and Gunnar would launch another attack sooner rather than later. The time for romance had to wait.
She paused outside the doors leading into her father’s throne room and drew in a deep, steadying breath. Then she nodded at the guards and they pulled the doors open. Without giving herself time to have second thoughts, she raised her chin and strode inside, aware of the absolute silence that fell over the gathered drottin. Not all of them were present, several probably at Gunnar’s side, but there were enough to give them a fighting chance if she could convince them of the justness of her cause.
One by one, she searched their faces, past one stoic visage to the next, only to startle back when Lagertha smiled back at her from a post near the wall alongside the rest of the huskarlar.
Her dearest friend had braved the central plains and crossed the kingdom to join them.
“Be proud,” Lagertha mouthed to her. “Do not bend.”
The vast number who had seen Gunnar’s treachery gave them a definite advantage. The king had lied, proclaimed his wife dead, and gone against their gods’ will.
They had more than a fighting chance, she realized. All they needed was a majority of the drottin to side with them once the united forces of the Compact’s many kingdoms stormed their shores.
Sigurd walked in behind them with his head held high and confidence in every step of his stride. Given his performance during Gunnar’s shameless attack, he had every right to. He’d cleaved through a berserker’s helmet and right into his skull with a single blow, earning the name Sigurd Skull-splitter.
“Thank you all for meeting with me,” she said as she walked through the gathered group. Three of the older men bowed, but the others watched her with open curiosity and even some skepticism.
“You return from Jotunheim alive, but I see no army behind you,” Thursgad said, speaking first. Bryn had figured he would—the man clearly needed to be won over.
“Did you meet with the giants?” another asked.
“We did,” she replied, deciding to cut straight to heart of the matter. “King Thrym respected my arrival and request for aid, however, he was unable to promise us his assistance.”
Jarl Revna wrinkled her nose. “Does he not realize this false king’s plan threatens all of Jotunheim as well?” The woman’s cold and calculating features fixed on Bryn. They all fixated on Bryn, staring at her from around their positions at the great table. Each jarl had one in their throne room with enough seats for each ruling member of the drottin if necessary.