“You will drink it. Please.”
Different vegetable dishes and main courses arrived, the banquet table’s bounty growing until it became a feast of warm and fluffy fresh bread and a variety of meats.
Cara and Little Wolf sat with them, strangers in a sea of familiar faces. The villagers treated them with respect, but there was wariness there. Still, no one had raged at them or demanded they leave. Maybe there was hope yet. When had magic become a thing to be feared? Were her wings something to inspire fear? Or courage?
Her wings had vanished not long after the orchard fires were put out, as if they had never been there. But she felt something different within herself, a warmth and strength of resolve that hadn’t been there before.
Every so often, she caught her husband staring at her, studying her back and her shoulders, as if trying to will the wings to appear again with the force of his own mind. The towns people stared as well while they served the table.
“My father will leave behind a regiment of men to watch over the town, as will Jarl Ivar. Gunnar already struck once. I have no doubt he may try again.”
“Good. It will hurt to lose the men, but their safety is more important. Besides,” he grinned and raised a cup in toast toward his sister, “Cara and Little Wolf will make up for the loss.”
“We are each at least fifty men,” Little Wolf said, an uncertain grin on his face.
“That you are,” Sigurd agreed. He pushed the food around on his plate in silence afterward before finally pinning Little Wolf under his gaze. “How are the children?”
The table had been silent, awkward, little conversation occurring that wasn’t related to the battle ahead or the ones behind them. But Bryn saw the yearning between the trio and how much they wanted to reminisce.
“They are well, wild and strong. They have grown since they last saw you, of course.”
“Then you must visit them soon,” Bryn said quietly. “Little ones grow so quickly.”
“I will,” Sigurd said as he reached over and took her hand. “We both will. I think a visit to Wai Alei and Eisland would be good for us both once things are settled again here.”
“Queen Rapunzel would like that. She’s most interested in meeting you, Queen Brynhildr,” Cara said.
“Please, we are to be sisters and I hope friends. Call me Bryn.”
“No,” Cara said, plunging a knife into Bryn’s chest with a single word. The table fell eerily silent. Sigurd tensed, appearing painfully torn between his wife and twin.
“Ca—”
“We are sisters. I have questioned my brother’s judgment many times in the past, but I won’t when it comes to this matter. I never thought the big twit would take a wife, let alone lead the charging line of a rebellion for her.”
Bryn blinked, taken aback, while Sigurd broke out in a loud guffaw. He leaned forward in his seat, eyes squinted shut, his face red. His sister smacked him in the arm, and even Little Wolf cracked a grin. “You get used to Cara’s tough love,” he finally said.
“Of course she will,” Cara replied, grinning. “We will win this, and we will change the gulf for the better. I’m honored to be here.” She reached for Bryn’s hand across the table.
Bryn hesitated, then took the sorceress’s hand. No shock traveled through her touch, no dastardly enchantment was cast. Her flesh was warm, her fingers inviting.
“Thank you. I do not deserve your forgiveness, for what I failed to see, but thank you,” Bryn said quietly. Cara squeezed her hand. “We can’t move forward without moving on. Let us save the day and depose your king before we worry more.”
“It won’t be easy.”
“It won’t,” Cara agreed, “but nothing ever is. Little Wolf and I will do what we can to counteract any magic he uses against you. When I escaped with the others, we reduced his number of mages, so that’s in our favor at least.”
“He has more.”
“And we have you,” Sigurd said. “I…I don’t know what happened earlier, not exactly, but I do know the gods are with us. That’s magic all in itself.”
“Neither do I,” Bryn admitted. “But if this is sign of Odin’s blessing, then I will not let it go to waste, and I’ll do whatever is necessary in the coming days to free this kingdom from Gunnar.”
Before she could say more, the aromatic fragrance of spices reached her nose, and the matron of the Epleberg family carried a pie into the room.
Sigurd leaned toward his friend and murmured, “Prepare for a treat you’ll never find on the islands.”
Tomorrow they would set out on the final march to Grindavik and put an end to Gunnar once and for all.
Chapter 23
It occurred to Sigurd, as their westbound journey continued, that he had never participated in a war confined to land before. He’d been in numerous naval battles on behalf of his nation, but he’d never set boots to ground. When Queen Rapunzel had reclaimed the Eislandic throne, he’d been out at sea, returning at the tail end of the war that had divided their country when she and Joren fought off the demon posing as their father.
Their destination came into view after days of marching interspersed with minor skirmishes. Grindavik was an enormous city cradled at the base of the mountainside, with its castle on the lowest peak above it. Surrounding the city, in the shape of a crescent, was an enormous curtain wall.
They had cleaved through the limited opposition at the outposts along the way and reveled in every victory. Gunnar’s men and the spineless jarls siding with him may have had a fighting chance at repelling their advance if not for the addition of five hundred more shield maidens. Most, if not all of those women—loyal to both their queen and their general—had departed with Lagertha when she abandoned the castle weeks ago, crippling Grindavik’s defenses.
Still more joined their side during the march, women defecting from Ulfgar, Ragna, and other camps when they heard of a rebellion led by their cherished queen. Acquiring these women added days to their journey, a necessary evil, as the maidens relayed news critical to the success of storming Grindavik, as well as weaknesses of the armies they had deserted.
Yet they were still bound to be grossly outnumbered.
Now, long after Bryn’s original estimation, they reached Grindavik, where thousands of men and women stood between them and their goal, ready to defend their treacherous king. More would be awaiting inside the city to defend the castle.
Unfortunately for them, Bryn’s forces were equally determined to defend her, each one prepared to die in her name, down to the last man and woman. Sigurd considered himself one of them.
They had to gain access to the city. Had to take Grindavik before they could storm the castle. As their armies clashed, he tried not to think about the names behind the faces of those he cleaved through. Some were familiar, soldiers he’d seen in the castle halls or at the quarry. They’d chosen their side.
Arne and Sten fought tirelessly at his side, juggernauts who plowed through the enemy ranks, but the closer to the castle they pressed, the thicker the opposition came.
“Look! Gunnar’s banner,” Sten said, drawing Sigurd’s attention to an area on the far side of the battlefield. A thousand men stood between him and the man he wanted to destroy. He did not command his men as a true leader. King Gunnar hid behind them, a coward to the end.