Page 37

FEIGRIND

Irode hard from sun up to sun down to get here as quickly as possible. Uttin was not far behind me. I wasn’t sure about the rest. I didn’t wait to see who would follow. I could only think of Simon. Feiskedr was insulted after the last blood duel when we wouldn’t give up Simon. I should have known he would come back. The Fer’na were not honorable. We should not have allowed them into the village in the first place.

I heard Simon’s challenge as I approached, and Feiskedr’s refusal, but I knew what I must do. Feiskedr had been a warrior almost longer than I had been alive, but it did not matter. I had to protect Simon.

Feiskedr looked defiant of my challenge. This did not surprise me. He lacked honor and often used his clan to do his bidding. I waited for him to offer someone else—I would have met whoever he threw at me head on—but he seemed resistant to that idea as well. What had Simon said to make him so hesitant?

“You cannot challenge me,” Feiskedr finally said, lifting his chin. “I have defeated your leader. Your clan belongs to me now.”

Simon moved before I even blinked, tossing his daggers. They hit their targets dead on, killing the two who held Orthorr hostage. The clan surged behind me, disarming the Fer’na in the village center who stood watch, leaving only Feiskedr to face me alone.

“Take mine,” I murmured low enough that Feiskedr could not hear me. I didn’t want Simon unarmed. He crouched and removed the dagger strapped to my calf, his eyes never leaving the Fer’na clan leader.

“I’ve got excellent aim, asshole. Either accept his challenge, or try your luck dodging me.”

Feiskedr’s eyes were wide with panic and anger. He knew he’d lost, but he could not accept it. We all waited for his next move, the world quiet as the grave. No one knew the mind of a coward. I did not dare assume to know what he’d do next.

His gaze darted around before landing on Simon and narrowing. “Fine. Let the whore fight your battles. He challenged me first. Should he lose, he and the clan belong to me.”

“Coward!”

“Too frightened to face a warrior! He would challenge a tribute instead!”

“He has no honor!”

The clan’s shouts angered Feiskedr, but Simon ignored them, taking a step forward. I caught his elbow, shaking my head, my heart lodged in my throat.

“You are a beautiful fighter, but he does not fight with honor. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The side of Simon’s mouth kicked up in a smirk. “I’m a whore, Feigrind. No one ever said anything about me fighting with honor. I can play his game just fine.”

He turned to accept the challenge, and I prayed to the heavens that someone would intervene. I had great faith in the goddess, but I didn’t know if she was listening.

Before Simon could speak, Einar stalked into the village center, marching straight up to Feiskedr. He cut off his head without blinking, then turned and headed for the rest, who were already disarmed. Uttin and several others swarmed in to stop him. It was dishonorable to kill unarmed warriors. They would face trial and sentencing. Should they be given the death sentence, only then would Einar be allowed to kill them.

“Woah. Guess that handles that,” Simon said, his tone impressed.

The clan worked together to handle the rest of the attackers. They were tied to stakes outside the village. In our culture, if someone was killed by wild animals while captured, it was the goddess who decided their fate. Rath took great enjoyment staking them close to the forest line, where the smell of blood would lure the beasts closer, after finding out one tried to rape his bondmate. Orthorr and many others who had been on guard and taken by surprise were brought to the healer’s tent, though we were lucky that none of our clan died this night.

I held Simon in my arms, watching the clan movements without moving away from him. I couldn’t. I knew Feiskedr’s goal was to take Simon. I knew what he would have done had he succeeded. My fiery, beautiful tribute would have become a broken shell of himself. I couldn’t stomach the thought.

While cleaning up the bodies, Bhortis brought Simon his daggers. I stiffened, daring him with my eyes to say something rude, but Bhortis’s expression held great respect when he handed the weapons back.

“I don’t think I’ve seen another who can aim that well without taking much time to line up their throws,” he said reverently. “You have great skill.”

Simon looked a little smug when he said, “I know.”

Bhortis took no offense, snorting before he returned to his task. Simon wiped the blades on his pant leg before trying to walk away. When my arms tightened around him, he huffed out a laugh, tipping his head away from the fire.

“Come with me, then. I need to return these.”

Reluctantly, I let him leave the circle of my arms, following him to where Einar stood staring out at the darkness. He was still on high alert, waiting for something more to pass. I hoped his instinct was wrong.

“Thank you for lending me these,” Simon said, stepping up to him.

Einar pulled his gaze from the darkness to glance down at Simon, then away again. “Keep them. They are of better use to you than me.”

That surprised me. Einar was a hoarder of weapons. He did not like to give them up without good reason. Apparently, Simon had earned his respect as well.