“And what will you do with it?” Ailsa’s gaze on him was murderous. “There is nothing in this ring besides memories. You are mistaken demon, and I will not bet my heirloom on your false discretion.” She was protective over this artifact, as if her life depended on it. Almost like she had no choice.
“You know something, don’t you?” the man argued. “There is a reason that same ring has been passed down the original shieldmage line. You’re sentencing us all to death because you want to keep your family’s power over us all! So no one else will be able to challenge theJarl of Drakame.”
“Erik, this isn’t the time. Calm yourself before you say something you will regret.” The bald chieftain rose, finding his breath again. But Erik ignored him, boring his glare into the woman.
“You’re letting this demon warp your opinion over me,” she snapped, the light in her eyes dimmed. “No one told me they were searching for something until tonight when we met with the chieftains—”
“If your father would have told us the truth about your line, Ailsa, none of this would be happening! We could have returned it before they slaughtered our families!” Erik threw his sword in the soft ground, his bronze skin now tainted pink and shaking with unrestrained rage.
Vali took an observant step back, letting the exchange unfold between the two.
“He never said anything about this ring, nor a power bound inside it. You must believe my family has nothing to do with this! That I had nothing to do with this.” But the crack in her voice made Vali wonder if even she believed her own claim.
Erik stepped towards her, pointing his finger at her chest. “My father is dead over whatever your family has hidden on top of that hill! Over a game of power!”
“And my whole family is dead! Am I now the enemy? If this ring is indeed the Tether, is the blood of our fallen on my hands because I was ignorant, Erik?”
“You should have donemore,” he seethed. Vali watched as the woman visibly recoiled, her stormy eyes now cloudy with hurt.
“Aye,” she muttered. “I never was enough for you.”
Vali cleared his throat, returning their attention back to him.
She smoothed a hand over a cheekbone, smearing a rim of black paint that was now wet from a single tear. Quicker than he’d ever seen a mortal move, she ducked and swiped the discarded blade from the sand, thrusting it from her chest as the blade pointed toward Vali. “If you want this ring, demon. Come and take it,” she spat, each word laced with hatred.
Vali regarded her statement, assessing her anguish behind the mask thisErikhad stripped away with his accusations. His lips curled in a smile, a genuine one. Oh, he liked this woman very much. She had witnessed firsthand the consequences of facing him, had seen it with her own eyes as he strangled the bald chieftain. But here she was, pointing a sword too large for her tiny frame at him, and not a lick of fear in her eyes.
“Fine,” he said, shrugging. “Have it your way.”
“No!” Erik flung himself between them. “No, fight me, not Ailsa. I’ll fight this trial in her place.”
Vali rolled his shoulders in frustration. This wasn’t about the fight, it was about conviction; he could easily kill them both without breaking a sweat. She wanted to defend what belonged to her, even if it killed her. This man was robbing her of that honor. “Interesting you should care about her well-being now, considering you just stabbed her in the back.” He waved his right hand, sending the other three chieftains waist high into the wet sand, ensnaring them.
“But if you want to die with her, so be it.”
This man had no honor in him if he let his temper attack the woman he cared for. He was a hot head, a match easily burned when struck. And Vali felt no pity for the man as he boiled his blood.
Erik’s screams ripped through the night and sung across the fjord. She had never heard a sound so agonizing, so full of torment. A sound that would haunt her nightmares every time she closed her eyes. The elfin was hitting her where it hurt the most, understanding the deepest wounds were not in flesh and bone but in the soft places of the heart by burning Erik alive with an invisible heat and no promise of dousing the flames.
“Stop!” she gasped. Her arms stilled and the cumbersome weight of the sword fell from her hands. Her blood roared in her ears; panic-stricken fear raced her heart to a speed she was not competent to tolerate. She fell to her knees beside Erik as he writhed, but his skin was feverish, so hot it burned her with a skimming touch.
“Please,” she wheezed, her fear made her breaths noisy and thick. It shamed her for this male to hear her weakness, witness her desperation through the tears wetting her cheeks, see the pain she endured as every breath was a battle of its own, one that left her smothered and stole her strength.
“Stop!” she screamed. Erik’s wails were softer now, quieting. Her hand found the necklace dangling across her chest, a wave of fresh anger sourced the remaining strength left in her body.
“Lètta!” she shouted this time in the old language, and the world stopped, obeying her command.
There was lightning in her veins, a terrible light surging through the lifelines of her nerves and arteries, climbing until it surged through every inch of her flesh. She tasted metal, smelled burning ash, and the crack of Thor’s thunder clipped through Erik’s shouts, silencing them completely.
Ailsa shut her eyes against the force wracking through her body. This must be death, she thought. This must be what it felt like to have her soul ripped from her body, to be separated from her bones and taken to the dark realm of Helheim. There was no pain, only blinding light, and a heat that brushed against her skin and burned her center into a hearth. Her breath evened and her heart slowed to a normal rate. She opened her eyes, expecting to see the cadaverous face of Hel calling her away, but instead found an even stranger scene.
The elfin was halfway across the harbor, lying face down in the sand before slowly pushing himself up into a seated position. His face found hers, and the brilliant gold of his eyes darkened with shock.
“Your skin,” he said in a voice filled with awe. She looked at her forearms now exposed as her sleeves fell around her elbows. Written across the soft skin beneath her arms were the same runes that had marked the ring. They shimmered a luminous orange before fading into black, like hot metal inside a forge cooling into shape. The burning across the midline of her throat ceased, and her fingers felt scratches raking down her neck and beneath the neckline of her gown. More runes written there as well.
Erik was unconscious, unaware of the event that ceased his agony. His chest rose and fell in a labored rhythm, and Ailsa was satisfied he was well for the time being.
She, however, was not in such a position.