“Well, we have ships from all the kingdoms gathered and ready to strike. Joaidane’s fleet already sank a Liangese warship when they failed to turn back from the island waters. I don’t expect much trouble from them beyond what aid they’ve already provided Gunnar.”
Cara practically spat the king’s name, and he couldn’t help but grin.
“How long until your people touch land? Have the Mordenians joined you yet?”
“No. Not yet. They’re en route, however. They’ve wanted in on this one for a while, and I trust that they’ll arrive in as timely a manner as possible.”
Creag Morden had the smallest navy of all seafaring nations. For decades, their people had relied on a close alliance with Eisland for protection of their merchant ships on the seas.
While he appreciated the nation’s help, what he truly anticipated seeing in battle would be the shapeshifters of Cairn Ocland. A kingdom of brutish men every bit as large as the Ridaerons, yet capable of taking the form of powerful animals.
“I’m not entirely certain yet, but I think some of the islanders will be joining us as well. After what happened to them, they’ve decided they cannot remain neutral.”
“I do not blame them. It’s a matter of pride and avenging the lost. It saddens my heart that a people so few in number have been abused this way.”
He’d learned over the past year that most of the captive islanders had survived, though many had perished from illness, or outright refusal to be enslaved altogether.
“Cara…there is something I must tell you, but I don’t know how to say it. Or rather, how you’ll receive the news.”
“You can tell me anything, you know that.”
He hoped so. The last person he wanted to alienate—or hurt—was his twin.
Sigurd sucked in a breath. He had no doubts about his decision, but he had every reason to doubt Cara’s trust in the woman he loved. “I asked Brynhildr to marry me. She’s said yes, and we’re to be wed this evening before the jarls assembled here to aid us.”
The silence he had feared came, and he waited with breath held while his sister processed the news. He couldn’t tell if she looked horrified, angry, or pleased. She paled, flushed, opened her mouth then snapped it shut, and just stared at him until he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Say something, Cara.”
“How could you get married without me, you big lummox? We always promised each other we’d be there on the occasion, and someone needs to warn your bride to be what a terrible cook you are before she gets poisoned.”
Relief burst out of him in a sharp bark of laughter. How she accepted the news had meant the most to him, more than anything. While he would have married Bryn just the same, his twin’s opinion carried weight.
“I love you,” he said fiercely. “So very much, sister. I’ve missed you more than I can put into words.” He swallowed thickly. “And were this another time, I would happily wait. It’s only that…losing her once taught me what happens when we delay what matters most. How it felt, knowing I could never tell her the things I desired… I could not live with that.”
Her expression softened. “I think I understand. I just wish I could be there to see it, that’s all. She’s…she’s a lucky woman, Cam. I hope she knows that.”
“I consider myself the luckiest of all. I know she’s made mistakes, that her people are flawed, but she’s learned. And if she can learn, she can teach the other jarls.”
So far, in addition to Brynjar, Ivar and Revna seemed the most willing to entertain the idea of freeing all the thralls and allowing them to move forward in their respective trades. It would be a large undertaking, but Bryn had said no price was too great to accomplish it.
“Maybe, if we both survive this, she’ll endure a ceremony of the Eislandic variety.”
“Two weddings? Sweet Eisen, Cam, it’s like you want to suffer. No, one will be enough but…I look forward to meeting my sister-in-law under better circumstances. I won’t say it will be easy, and I won’t lie, there are times I wonder if you’ve gone mad, but you’re my brother and I love you. I trust you. And I can see that you’re a man in love, not a man under thrall.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever truly been one of their thralls.” He’d had freedom from the beginning, as much as he could have enjoyed as a guest of the palace, with the exception of the ceremony that resulted in his new name. He sighed. “If anything, I may be maddened by love. I look forward to you both meeting. Until then, please don’t be a stranger.” He paused then added, with humor surfacing on his face, “But maybe refrain from sending that creature the next time.”
Her brows knit in confusion, then she seemed to arrive at some conclusion and rolled her eyes at him. “I meant you don’t seem like a man bewitched.” She chuckled. “What’s wrong with Minuet?” she demanded.
“Its…smile is a bit unsettling, don’t you think?” While the creature had been an otherwise lovely example of a cat, its eerie smile had stuck with him.
“Well, he’s not an actual cat so I suppose I don’t mind it. Besides, sending him to you is quicker than this mirror trick. I’ve tried getting ahold of you several times recently, but you’ve never been near enough to a reflective surface.”
He chuckled. “I’m proud of your growth, Cara. Just…beware with the mirror, all right?”
A sly gleam shone in her eyes. “Yes, that’s quite the birthmark on your left butt cheek.”
He spluttered while she laughed, deep guffaws that he’d missed. His sister did nothing in half measures.
“I’ll contact you again tomorrow at this same time,” she said when she finally brought herself under control. “Be sure you’re out of bed and dressed, to spare me any more nightmares.”
His face flushed even deeper, darker, until the heat seemed to consume his entire face. “Gods. I’ll be here and ready.” He smiled just the same, grateful for the moment of shared conversation, even if the laughter was at his expense. “I love you, Cara. Until tomorrow.”
While not by design, good fortune had seen to it that the eve of their wedding fell on the day sacred to Frigga. After a day spent in ritual preparation, Sigurd waited for his bride-to-be in the city square. Everyone, noble and commoner alike, had gathered and prepared, filling the plaza with floral garlands and music. The air was fragrant with myrrh, jasmine, and moonflowers, their sweetness contrasted by the fish smoking for the feast to follow. The drottin who had allied with them stood in attendance, waiting to the side while Bryn’s father stood with the priest.
Boisterous music filled the air, rhythmic drum beats that echoed against the nearby buildings. Four women walked into view and it was then he realized it wasn’t drums he was hearing, but their fists against their shields.
Each woman appeared more imposing than the last, muscled and clad in their finest armor. And to the rear of them came Bryn. The sight of her in complete regalia took his breath away. Chainmail of white metal shone beneath a leather cuirass engraved with glyphs and blessings. She wore shoulder pauldrons and wrist guards, and a golden bear fur over her shoulders. In Eisland, she would have carried flowers. Bryn carried her shield, as if marriage were another battle to engage.