My gaze darted to his. “Is that how you resisted me? Your mind is as fortified by your goddesses’ strength as your body?”
He nodded once.
Just what had he traded the Valkyrie for such power? I tilted my head. “And I’m sure they offered to do that freely—at no cost to you.”
“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to stop the j?tnar,” Leif said, echoing the words I’d sworn to myself. “The price is high, but higher still if I fail. If the j?tnar overthrow the gods, they will enslave those who took up arms with them and slaughter the rest. The Valkyrie have also promised that if I fail, I will be denied a warrior’s death in Valhalla and be taken straight to Hel’s realm of torture.”
“And should you succeed?”
His jaw tightened, discouraging any further questions. “It was necessary, and I would do it again no matter the cost.” As I watched, a mist of foreboding seemed to creep across his features. “I’ve kept you awake for far too long. I’ll hunt something to eat, and then you should sleep.”
“Should I? I’m glad I have you to tell me when I should eat and sleep.”
He snorted as he walked away, and then I was alone with my thoughts and the fire. The day’s events had taken their toll—the Wild Hunt, the disturbing moment when I was outside my own body, and Leif’s tale of the Valkyrie—and I barely wrapped my cloak around me before I toppled over on my side to sleep. As exhausted as I was, Leif’s words haunted me. The brutal murder of his sister made his vendetta against the giants almost noble, and I hated that we had so much in common. Everything I’d ever known about the Northmen made it difficult to believe that he would go to such lengths over someone he loved. I had come to think of the Northmen as barbaric monsters who could no more love than a snake could.
There was no doubt, though: Leif loved his sister. Maybe as much I loved Alana. Enough that he would risk his own soul to avenge her.
I would do it again no matter the cost, he’d said.
Even as my eyelids drooped closed and I slipped away into sleep, one thing stuck out in my mind: the price of such power must be more terrible than I could imagine.
10
Dubhlinn, at last. The morning had revealed that we’d made camp close enough to see the river Liffey snaking through the land in the distance. It ran through the heart of Dubhlinn, so we’d known we weren’t far from the city. Even still, Leif kept Sleipnir at a much slower pace, though I’d told him repeatedly my head injury was much more bearable this morning. But now, I couldn’t help but feel a little dizzy and cover my nose with the edge of my cloak. The combined smell of animals, thick wood smoke, human waste, and refuse was so pungent—even through my cloak—that my eyes watered. The streets were narrow, pressing us close to the thatched houses made of mud, where I could hear the rise and fall of voices as we passed by. There was no privacy; I could view the entirety of their one-room houses from Sleipnir’s back. I watched a pair of young boys carrying bread back to their mother, feet clad only in woolen socks. Their poverty caused my heart to twist in my chest; their lot was such that even if I gave them every coin I had with me, they would never escape their fate of living and dying in one of those one-roomed houses.
The farther we rode into the city, the more I began to dread the moment when we’d arrive at Sigtrygg’s castle at the northern end of Dubhlinn.
As we entered the trade part of the city, the noise quickly vied with the pungent smell for most overwhelming stimulus. The pound of the blacksmith’s hammer, the throngs of people, the bleats and calls of the animals, and the rise and fall of voices in Gaelic, English, and Norse created such a cacophony that I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw throbbed.
Rising above everything was a magnificent cathedral, with turrets that nearly blotted out the sun. It was constructed of dove-gray stone, so out of place in the dirty, crowded city that the cathedral rendered all the little thatched houses beneath it inferior. The cathedral’s construction was one of the few things the Dubhlinn king had ever done that did not enrage me.
Leif guided Sleipnir through the narrow streets in the direction of the cathedral. Beyond the church was a castle, equally grand, with a stone wall encompassing its bailey. This, then, was the seat of King Sigtrygg.
The closer we got to the king’s castle, the more trepidation filled me. I glanced down at my cloak in my clan’s colors of green and gold. This was the king who was at odds with my father, who had raided a monastery under our kingdom’s protection. How would he react to me? But there was another part of me—a much larger part—that welcomed such a confrontation. I was confident in my ability to protect myself, and I wanted to meet this half-pagan king, the one who would dare desecrate holy ground and raid like a Northman.
“I hope you remember that King Sigtrygg is no ally of mine,” I told Leif. “I suspect he won’t welcome me with open arms. Or, at least, if he does . . . it’s most likely a trap.”
“He will treat you the same way he treats any other highborn maiden,” Leif said with a wry smile. “He will offer to take you to bed. Whether you accept or not is up to you, but I would advise against it.”
I bristled at his teasing tone. “You don’t understand. I am more than a mere maiden—”
“How well I know.”
“I am a princess. Princess Ciara Leannán of Mide.”
He fell into a surprised silence for a moment but recovered quickly. “Much more than a warrior maiden, then. We are allies, you and I.” Leif’s tone turned dangerous. “If he should do something so foolish as to attack you in my presence, then I will remove his head.”
I wrapped my incriminatingly green-and-gold cloak closer about me. We were walking into the lion’s den, but I had chosen this quest of my own free will, and I would see it to its conclusion. I didn’t trust Leif—not yet—but I did have faith in my own abilities.
We crossed a sickly brownish-green moat, Sleipnir’s hooves echoing hollowly on the wooden bridge. Two men hailed us before we entered the bailey, outfitted in chain mail. Their hair was closely cropped save for long braids in the back.
One of them squinted up at us, an ugly scar puckering the flesh of his forehead. “Your name, sir, or you will go no farther.”
“Leif Olafsson,” he said, with an edge to his tone.
“This is the one they told us to expect,” the other said. His cheeks were as smooth as a boy’s, and his hair was the color of wheat. He turned to Leif. “You are welcome here. The king was called away to another part of the kingdom, but he will give you audience as soon as he returns.”
Leif tightened his hold on Sleipnir’s reins until the horse fidgeted. “I care little for what the king is presently occupying himself with. My men.” He enunciated slowly. “I will await them here. The lady will also need a healer.”
The two must have sensed Leif’s rising tension because one of the guards hurried off without another word, presumably to do as Leif demanded.
As we waited, Leif dismounted and helped me down gently, despite his obvious irritation. To my relief, I was able to stand. “You needn’t speak to them as though they were dirt,” I said with a glare. His jaw flexed repeatedly, tension evident in every muscle.
“I’ll treat them as such until I see with my own eyes that Arinbjorn is well.”
My brows furrowed until I realized he must mean his brother. In a gentler tone I said, “You said before, the king has always welcomed you. Do you doubt Arinbjorn’s safety?”