Ivar nodded, as did a few others, while Ulfgar glowered from his seat. He stood. Three others of the eleven joined him.
“I will not listen to this child and this…this foreigner.”
“Think hard before you leave this table, my lords,” Bryn warned. “Change is coming, whether you like it or not. If Gunnar wins this war, Ridaeron will be forsaken by the gods. He has given them great offense and he will pay for those crimes, as will those who know the truth and still stand beside him.”
“What proof is there beyond your word and his that the gods will forsake us at all?” one of Ulfgar’s supporters asked. “You have shown us no proof. We have only words and the claims of a little girl who was not cut out to be queen.”
“Believe your eyes!” Sigurd shouted. “Did your own eyes not bear witness as the king put on a grand display for her funeral procession? You mourned and paid your respects to a woman you thought dead. Yet here she is before you, and the king is the one who attacked this city without cause.”
“She is a g—”
“Oh shut up, you big oaf,” Revna spat. “You dislike Gunnar’s policies more than anyone. Your only objection here is that you want to be on the throne in his place.”
“You will doom us all. Mark my words. I will not participate in discarding our values and the traditions that make this dynasty.” Ulfgar strode from the room, steps thundering over the stone floors. His followers slunk out behind him.
When Bryn sighed, Sigurd touched her shoulder. “You did your best.”
“They’ll run to Gunnar and tell him everything.”
“Not necessarily,” her father said. “If they go to Gunnar, they’ll have lost face. He won’t forgive them for answering your call first.”
Revna nodded. “Nor will Gunnar forgive them for fighting against his men. Ulfgar and his spineless worms will sit this battle out like the cowards they are until it comes time to truly choose a side. We must guarantee only one side remains. Now, tell us more about this message from the gods.”
She told her story from the beginning, effortlessly leaving openings for Sigurd to insert his part in the tales. By the time she finished, all eyes were fixated on her.
“Ridaeron was meant to be more than it is. It is time for us to regain our honor. Our forefathers worked hard to build this kingdom. They worked with the jotuns as allies. Our gods and theirs once watched over us all. But greed changed us. Greed, and the pride of one family.”
“Then tell us what we can do,” Ivar rumbled. “What do you need from us to depose Gunnar from the throne? You have led us for a decade, performing more during your tenure as our high queen than he could have ever hoped to achieve. His legacy is blood on the sea. If anyone is to claim the throne, it should be you.”
“Agreed,” said Revna.
“I agree as well. Not because she is my daughter, but because I have watched with pride as she ruled our lands. I have watched her grow.”
“Then what is our plan?” Ivar asked.
Bryn steadied herself with a breath and let confidence flow through her. This was her moment to shine.
This was her moment to be the high queen their proud nation deserved.
“The only way we can defeat him is by force, much as I hate to say it. My plan is this: gather your armies and march with me on Grindavik. Let us show Gunnar that the drottin do not stand with him in full. Let his people see me, and let them see him turn down a chance at peace.”
Not long after the council meeting’s conclusion—once Brynhildr had reunited with Lagertha and learned the woman had marched with almost the entire bulk of the shield maiden forces—Sigurd and Brynhildr ate a large dinner, shared an indulgent bath, then spent hours longer making love in her bed in every conceivable way, as if their dedication to one another’s bodies could banish the dark days ahead.
First to stir after their long rest, Sigurd pushed up on one arm to gaze down at the woman dozing beside him. Bryn’s golden hair clung to her back and spread over the pillows in silken strands.
“What are you staring at?” she asked without opening her eyes.
“Who said I was staring?”
“I can feel your gaze.”
The fire flickered in the hearth of her private bedchambers, casting a subtle glow over decor from Brynhildr’s childhood and early adolescent years. Her first shield hung on display, as did carvings made from the mammoths that roamed the northern plains.
And then there were the dolls. Beautiful dolls with such delicate features. Sigurd had trouble reconciling the girl of the past with the fearless shield maiden beside him. He gazed at her for a long moment, as the flames cast dancing shadows over them.
“It isn’t often that I have the opportunity to look upon a woman truly worth admiration,” he teased. “Is there a crime in appreciating what is mine?” What he hoped was his, at least.
Her eyes finally opened and a smile curved her lips. “Only if I get to look upon you in return.” She dragged a finger down his chest, lazily tracing each dip and plane of his muscular physique. “I wish it could always be like this.”
“It could be one day.” His heart sped, not from her touch, but from the thoughts most prevalent in his mind over the past weeks since she’d opened her eyes again. Since he’d seen the power of the gods, and foiled the Liangese curse by freeing her from the armor.
Sigurd had never been wed to any woman, but in truth, the temptation had never come to him. He’d never found anyone endearing enough or witty enough to keep his interest, nor a woman who could ignite the most basic needs of his body with a glance.
Bryn had been all of that, even in the early days when he’d loathed her. She’d gone against the will of her king, broken tradition, and saved his sister. After that, he’d never known what to think about her.
“Bryn, I…have given thought to something in recent days.”
“Oh? Are you only beginning to think for yourself now?” she quipped with a playful grin. Her touch wandered lower, a torturous little tease that never quite came close to where he wanted her touch.
There was a part of him that wanted to set aside talking for more pleasurable pursuits and feed the unquenchable fire she always stirred within him. But he needed to speak his mind before he lost his nerve. With that in mind, he caught her hand and raised it to his lips instead.
“I’m serious, Bryn.”
“What is it?”
It wasn’t until she’d asked him to free her country from Gunnar’s tyranny that he knew he loved it. But it was her death, and the blackest despair which followed, that taught him the error of delay.
They weren’t guaranteed a fulfilling end.
It was possible one or both of them would perish during the siege against the castle.
“Fighting beside you has shown me there is more than the woman we met at the quarry. We fought against you then, and you annihilated us. Our plan went to shit the moment you took the field. I wanted to hate you. Hating you was easy then, when you carried out Gunnar’s will.”
Pain and caution flashed in her eyes. “I know. Back then I recognized strength in you, but I had no idea I would find more. In my own way, I suppose, I sought to save you from the mines, but my reasons were self-serving. I…I knew you hated me and I found amusement in it. That is a burden I can never shed.”