Page 31 of Daughter of the Serpent

The crowd murmured amongst each other, the anger, the confusion apparent.

“Thank you Baldr, you may go.” Rederick nodded.

As Baldr passed, his gaze locked onto hers, a mixture of pity and wrath. Yet as he moved, his usual sour expression faltered, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes softened. An ember she had never seen before flickered in their depths - an unmistakable hint of something foreign and unseen. His eyes quickly diverted to the floor as she registered what she saw - guilt.

“What do the families of the victims say?” Rederick called out, encouraging them to step forward.

Siv, Baldr’s mother, moved first. Sylvie felt her heart stop as she came into view. Her long gray braid was cascaded over her shoulder,and black robes of mourning enveloping her small and frail frame as she approached. Her eyes, red and swollen from grief, glistened under the dim light. As she faced the elders, her expression hardened, the lines of sorrow replaced by a steely resolve. Her eyes flashed, not with tears, but with anger.

“We are not satisfied!” The words came out seething like liquid fire. “The blood of my son, and all our sons must be avenged!” She turned to look at Sylvie, and there was no mercy to be found in her eyes. “We demand justice! We demand blood!”

Sylvie felt the weight of Siv’s words settle, heavy and suffocating. Her chest tightened as though the walls were closing in, her pulse roaring in her ears. Her gaze darted over the gathering, desperate for some semblance of mercy among the faces, but none was to be found. Each pair of eyes burned into her with raw hatred, their unspoken accusations sharper than any blade. Her hands trembled, the motion small but betraying her fear.

The oppressive energy of their mourning pressed into her, a weight she wasn’t sure she could bear. She restrained herself from falling to their knees, and begging them to believe her. It wasn’t her. She couldn’t have murdered them - and yet, if she did she knew inside her heart it would be a lie. They had tried to harm her, may have even taken her own life that night if the stranger had not intervened, and there was a moment, just a moment, where she had wanted them dead.

The sound of heavy boots against the stone cut through the tension, and her eyes snapped to the man who stepped forward. Bjorn Haggardson, brother to Harold Haggardson, who had fallen at the stranger’s hand. His name alone carried weight - a seasoned warrior of Mardova, his reputation built on blood and valor.

“Let me take this honor, high priest,” Bjorn said, his voice cutting through the charged air like a blade. He wasn’t addressing her, but his gaze locked on her, searing into her skin. “Let me take my vengeance and rid us of this diseased creature.”

Sylvie flinched at the venom in his words. Bjorn’s eyesnarrowed, gleaming with a dark, unsettling satisfaction as he stepped closer. His broad shoulders loomed over her, burying her in his shadow. The movement was deliberate, invasive, and the shift in the air between them made her skin prickle as though his very presence had turned it to ice. A slow, cruel smile tugged at his lips, and the gleam in his eyes deepened to something darker. Predatory. The look sent a cruel twist through her stomach, a warning she couldn’t ignore.

“I will take great pleasure in peeling your skin before the gods.”

Sylvie stiffened as his gaze raked over her, an unspoken threat woven into his every word, his every move. Even in her shapeless robes, she felt stripped bare under his scrutiny, his cruel amusement more cutting than any insult. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides.

Despite his threats, she couldn’t back down now.

A shiver ran down her spine, as she forced herself to meet his gaze, even as every instinct screamed at her to look away. Her throat tightened, but she refused to let him see the fear pooling there, refused to let him see how deeply he rattled her.

“Why not let the gods decide.” A voice rose from the crowd, disturbing the proceedings.

All eyes shifted to the moving form that now pushed through the throng towards them.

Shroud in all black, a man hooded and cloaked peeked out from the masses, his movements swift, purposeful.

“Why not let the trials prove her worth? Then all can know her innocence or guilt once and for all.”

A wave of whispers engulfed the crowd, the elder’s looking amongst themselves. Sylvie’s eyes went wide, nostrils flaring. His words struck fear into the very heart of her - the trials could be a fate worse than death if found unworthy.

Who was this man who had suddenly come to her aid?

She shifted, trying to see beyond the hood of his cloak to the man’s identity buried in shadows, yet was unsuccessful.

“And who are you, stranger?” Rederick sneered, standing fromhis seat, one long vein pulsing in his forehead. “Your voice is one I do not recognize.”

He moved back his hood, letting it fall to his shoulders as he inclined his head. “My name is Axel,” His long dark hair fell forward as he bowed before Rederick, one weathered hand sweeping back.

Sylvie still couldn't see the entirety of the man who had come to her rescue, yet she soaked in this one moment to regain her strength. “Of the Hazier.”

“Of the Hazier?” Rederick’s eyes glittered. “The warriors from the north?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not possible,” Kena, a stern - faced woman with iron hair, spoke up, joining Rederick’s side. “They died out years ago - the Karnikum wiped them out.”

“I am the last,” he said, his eyes unwavering.

The elders whispered amongst themselves, their eyes darting between the stranger and Sylvie.