Page 197 of Daughter of the Serpent

Thyra tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she studied her. “Can you believe this day has finally come?”

Sylvie nodded, her throat tightening again. “I can hardly believe it myself.”

“I know,” Thyra whispered, squeezing her hand. “And we’re here together, Sylvie. You and I, despite it all!”

Sylvie nodded, trying to return Thyra’s enthusiasm.

Thyra grinned, warmth dancing in her eyes. “Come! Let us get settled, we’re about to sail to the land of the gods!”

She took off in a near gallup, her furs catching the wind, a flash of determination in her step.

As Sylvie stepped deeper into the belly of the ship, the scent of aged wood and saltwater wrapped around her - a tangible reminder of the vast sea that awaited beyond the vessel’s sturdy hull. They would all have to take turns at the oars, rowing toward the distant coastline of Kallithea - the sacred realm of the gods.

Conserving strength would be crucial for the long, grueling journey ahead.

She wondered if all her training would be enough. Lately, she had begun to notice the changes: how her muscles carved new lines into her frame, winding and sculpting her into someone she barely recognized - stronger, leaner, steadier. She didn’t tire as easily. She moved with more precision. Axel had certainly done what he set outto do - pushed her, shaped her. And now, even the sword at her side no longer felt foreign. Her fingers brushed the cool steel of her earned blade, and pride swelled in her chest. She had earned this. This weapon, this strength - it was hers. Not to mention the immortal blade of Hallva that now was strapped firmly to her thigh.

Not long ago, she couldn’t have imagined wielding anything other than her own magic.

She had closed herself off to the idea that she could be anything more. A warrior. An explorer. A woman with a life of her own. She had written herself out of stories that required this kind of strength - believing such feats belonged to others, not to someone like her.

“He shouldn’t be here,” Haldor’s voice cut through the moment, cold and sharp.

His shoulder brushed against hers deliberately as he walked past. The contact sent a jolt through her, and she spun, eyes following him as he stalked toward the oars, each step a reminder of the distance between them.

Her fists clenched.

All her life he had been her closest ally, her confidant. But after everything, that connection seemed shattered - now they were like strangers, and the trials were about to begin.

She was about to go after him when her eyes collided with the source of his disdain.

Axel stood at the back of the ship, and with just a look, his energy shot through her like an arrow.

Instantly she was pinned - unable to move, to think, to breathe.

His fur - lined cloak shifted with the wind, his fighting leathers newer, darker - fitted like a second skin. Two long swords criss crossed his back, and at his hip, his glowing axe hummed with quiet menace. He looked like something out of one of Godvick’s stories. Something shaped, crafted by the gods.

And yet - he was bound to her.

The bond surged to life, a shimmer beneath her skin, golden heat curling around her spine.

And she was lost.

Gods, she was so screwed.

He was a part of her. There was no digging him out now, no matter how loudly logic screamed. Even after the hurt. Even after the betrayal. It took every shred of willpower not to run to him. Not to throw herself into his arms and pretend none of it had happened. The past months had molded her to him, and it felt unnatural, unbearable, to stand apart.

To eventhinkof being without him.

But she knew better now.

Those arms that once held safety and solace belonged to a stranger.

A liar.

She swallowed the ache rising in her chest, forcing herself to breathe, to focus.

She would not break.