Just as he had.
On the seventh day following the departure of the longboats, the bordering clans arrived in Drakame. The arrival of Yule had snuck upon her regardless of her feelings on celebrating. But holidays were always a good distraction, almost as efficiently diverting as work, and Ailsa dove into both to take her mind off the empty fjord and the solemn quiet of her longhouse.
They should have been back by now. The Isle of Farroe was only a day’s journey, even when the sea was at its most unfavorable conditions. Instead, the skies were barren of trouble, soothing the spirits of the tide in a harmonious relationship. Any hope she had left of seeing them again, dead or alive, had been slashed by the cruel whip of time.
The occasion called for a scarlet floor-length gown tied at the waist with a silk sash. The wide neckline revealed her sunken collar bones and the assortment of gold necklaces adorning her neck. The fitted sleeves hugged her shoulders and belled at the wrist, and she decorated her forearms with rows of arm rings that gleamed in the playful light. Gatherings such as these were the only occasions she showed her status through her appearance, and tonight Ailsa felt like true royalty.
The last thing she wanted to do was feign her composure with a fine gown and painted face, to see her clansman for the first time since her family—their families—floated away in their own casket. But appearance was intimate with power, and her gown was as much of a statement as a fashion choice. Tonight, the Riverland chieftains would decide their next move against the demon army who killed her family, and she needed a seat at the table. She would not lose her home and her reputation like she lost her family.
“Ah, the princess of our water-logged kingdom has arrived!”A coarse voice called from across the gathering hall as she entered. Ailsa rolled her eyes but smiled. Only her favorite artisan could get away with calling her such a thing. Ziggy rose from the head of a long table; each fist held a half-full tankard. “Ailsa, you are too radiant to belong to this world. Come join your lowly clansman for an ale. Gods know you deserve a few pints.”
Ailsa paced down the aisle formedby two rows of benches. The room suddenly hushed their drunken conversations. “Later, Ziggy. I need to keep my head clear for what’s to come. Don’t drink all the good mead until then.”
“No promises,” she winked. When Ailsa neared her chair, Ziggy snatched her forearm and pulled her close. “Do not fret about the vote. You know you have my family’s support as well as many others.”
“Do I look like a woman who worries?”
Ziggy gave her a wide smile, missing several of her front teeth. “No, child. You look like your mother.”
A small grin played across Ailsa’s lips, and she snatched one of Ziggy’s cups and drained it before the old woman could protest. She slammed it back on the oak varnish, now slippery with sloshed ale.
Ziggy cursed under her breath as she stared at the bottom of the cup.
“Ailsa!” A familiar voice called from the banquet hall doors, the afternoon sunset spilled behind the voice and darkened his figure. But her heart knew the sound as well as her memory.
“Erik!” Her feet broke into a run, charging toward the boy who filled her childhood days and finding the man he had grown to become. His arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her in a spinning embrace. She buried her face in his neck, smelling sea salt on his skin and the winter breeze in his hair. The fur lining his cloak was chilled from traveling, but his arms felt like the warmth of coming home.
He set her gently on her feet, stepping back to assess her full body. “Odin’s eye, Ailsa, you’re even more… well you look… How are you? How have you been feeling?” His lips pulled into a charming smile that crinkled the corners of his muddy eyes. His blonde hair, like bundles of grain warmed by the sun, was braided at the sides and pulled half up with the rest spilling down his shoulders.
“I’m as well as I can be, I suppose. And me? Look at you! You’ve must have grown an entire head taller since I saw you last.” Erik’s father had moved his family three years ago when his following grew large enough to rival his chieftain’s. Instead of fighting over the land her mother’s line had maintained for the past several centuries, Erik’s family and his supporters left the fjord in search of lands beyond their continent. Where less competition existed for the riches offered from the earth.
“Jarl Erik,” Nikros approached from the eastern wing of the banquet hall. “I believe you’re the last to arrive. The rest of the chieftains are waiting for you in the gathering hall in the back of the banquet.”
Erik’s smile faltered as the butcher interrupted their banter, his lips tightened in a polite grin instead. “Thank you, Nikros. Impeccable timing as always. You always did find me when I least wanted to be found.” He snuck a wink Ailsa’s way.
“Not difficult to notice you when you’re spinning my betrothed like a spider ensnaring a gnat in its web.” He crossed his thick forearms to reveal an iron hammer strapped to his side.
Erik opened his mouth, raising his hands in defense, but Ailsa cut him off. “Oh, piss off. Your brain has been replaced by a turd if you think I’ll ever bond with you. I meant what I said the first time, you have no claim over me.”
The bastard colored a shade of red Ailsa didn’t believe was natural for skin to turn. “I will have you, Ailsa, with or without your permission. Either way, your father has already promised you to me, and you dishonor his wishes—”
“Do not speak of honor when you have none of it. Only a fool speaks of things he does not understand.” She stepped between the pair of men; aware the room had silenced all light conversation. “Besides, I have the approval of our current jarl to break the vow of the former one.”
Nikros flung his head back with a joyless laugh. “Drakame has not voted on a new chieftain, Ailsa. What jarl did you get this approval from?”
“Myself.” She sneered, her hands gesturing wide to herself.
A bench screeched as the butcher stood suddenly from his seat. “It’ll be a sunny day in Helheim before I support a woman as my chieftain. My son should be given this honor; he has contributed his life, sacrificed Valhalla to stay and defend Drakame from this unknown enemy, and he’s already had the blessing of the former jarl to add to his support. Not to mention he is the last remaining shieldmage!” Nikroth pointed at his son while devouring the attention of anyone who would listen. “He is well admired by many in our clan, established a business to grow his wealth, and he has proved himself to be a valuable source of stock in our trade deals—”
“Well, if those are the requirements, perhaps Ziggy should be jarl,” Ailsa pointed her chin in the direction of the drunken potter, who lifted a newly filled tankard in agreement. “Face the facts, butcher. If I were a son instead of a daughter, this clan wouldn’t even question who would assume leadership. The spot falls to my father’s last of kin as the spoken law states.”
“How do we know you are his kin?” The butcher shrugged. “You don’t have his magic, his health, for all we know your mother ran off and—”
His accusation was interrupted by steel sliding free of its sheath. Erik was at her side with his blade half drawn, the candlelight danced along the polished metal. “Finish that thought and I’ll remove your hollow head from your fat neck,” he threatened.
“You wouldn’t have time to lift your blade,” Nikros hissed, unbolting his own weapon in his giant fist.
Ailsa swung between them to tame the fire in their fight, recalling Erik’s temper and how it only took a small spark to feel the burn of his rage. If she didn’t stop him now, things would get bloody. “Enough! All of you,” she said, turning over her shoulder to look back at the butcher. “My father claimed me as his own, and that should be enough for you not to question my blood. As for my claim as jarl,” she raised her chin as she’d seen her father do, “I’ll be dead in a few years as your son loves to remind me. You can vote on a permanent chieftain then. But I am the Jarl of Drakame, and if anyone else has a problem with it they can say so now.”