He raises his scarred hands, spreading his muscular arms in welcome, his wide smile radiating triumph and joy. “Thyra, I spent days believing that my brother and his heir had been wiped from the face of this earth by the witch of Kupari. I cannot tell you my relief at hearing you had survived.”
Thyra remains still and stiff as he rushes forward and pulls her into an embrace, clutching her head to his broad chest, which is covered in a rich brown leather vest. When he releases her, she looks up at him with a surprised gaze. “How I want to believe that, Uncle.”
He grasps her arms. “All grievances are washed away with time. I told Jaspar to do everything in his power to see your tribe made this journey whole. We must be united again.”
She doesn’t try to pull away from him, but I can tell by the tension in her posture that she wants to. “If that is what is best for my warriors. I have not yet decided.”
“Nor should you.” He puts his arm over her shoulders and guides her toward the tower entrance. “Come inside and let your warriors settle their bones. Tonight we will feast. You will tell me what has happened, and I will tell you everything I have planned.” He turns back to all of us. “Are you ready to stuff your bellies full of fresh meat and warm bread?” he shouts.
“Aye!” Jaspar and his warriors roar, along with several of ours. My stomach growls at the thought of bread, in spite of the wariness in Thyra’s gaze as she looks us over. But then she jerks her head toward the tower, telling us to get inside.
I obey, along with all the others. Our trek to the south is over. All the Krigere warriors are within these walls or just outside the city, but as I see Nisse enclose Thyra in another embrace she cannot possibly want, I know our journey has only just begun.
*
We lay our blankets down in a dank collection of little chambers set along a stone walkway that Jaspar calls a corridor. My shoulders are hunched up around my ears the whole time—it feels like this whole place could cave in and crush us at any moment. All our own warriors look equally nervous, eyeing windows and arched doorways and staircases as if pondering escape. I share a chamber with four other warriors, one of them Tue, Aksel’s best friend, who slinks around like a whipped dog, eyeing me with resentment. Thyra has taken Sander, Preben, and Bertel into her own chamber, and she seemed to be deliberately avoiding my gaze as she made the assignments.
Once again I wonder if I should be here at all. My curse has been quiet today, and I have done nothing to call attention to myself, just as she asked. Despite his questions this morning, Jaspar seems to have believed my lies, though he sought out my eyes numerous times this afternoon. Sander hasn’t said a word or thrown me a single suspicious look all day. Things are as she wants them to be—I am just another warrior. I am nothing out of the ordinary. But she gives me no window or doorway back to her side.
Jaspar’s words return to me over and over again—she has had my loyalty, and what has she done with it? She’s treating me as one of her secondary warriors instead of her wolf, the one who has guarded her sleep and stayed by her side. The one she kissed. The one she was cruel enough to give hope to. She’s discarded me like a bone. She’s stripped away what was useful and tossed the rest. The hurt burns in me like a smith’s fire, low and hot and utterly unquenchable. It doesn’t help that the others look at me warily, no doubt wondering what has changed.
We wash the dirt from our faces and hands—not in a stream and not in the lake, but with water that comes from a metal tube stuck in the ground, which only flows when you crank up and down on a pump attached to its head. The others shiver, telling me that it feels like the water came from the heart of winter herself, but somehow, it simply feels cool to me. Thyra’s skin is bright red as she splashes it over her cheeks and hair.
The others change into spare tunics if they have them, but I remain in mine, as my other is stained with blood and smells like burned flesh and I’d prefer to keep my wounds from my fight with Aksel well covered. They itch and ache and are barely closed, and I clench my teeth as I tighten the sheaths on my forearms. We all keep our weapons strapped to our hips and calves and arms and backs by Thyra’s order. Until she is sure of Nisse’s intentions, she wants us to remain ready. We all know that fighting would result in death—they outnumber us three to one—and fewer than fifty of us are actually within the castle walls. But we would take a staggering number of Nisse’s warriors down with us, and Thyra is obviously hoping the threat is enough to stave off a possible ambush.