Page 24

TWENTY-TWO

T he thunder was no slow rolling wave building in increments, but destruction striking upon her with sudden force. The ground shook with its impact, the air scorching like the heat of a thousand suns. It was blistering agony so hot that Hekla thought she’d melt.

Beyond the darkness came a scream of anguish. The mist’s heavy presence in the air fragmented, lessening with each passing second...

Hekla screamed, too, sizzling as though she bathed in the thick orange lifeblood of a fire mountain.

Writhing, she pleaded with the gods to grant her the mercy of death.

The air she gasped in seared her lungs, while the blood in her veins boiled.

Each torturous heartbeat bled into the next, making Hekla want to claw out of her skin.

But then the heat abated, just a touch, then a little less.

And then it rolled right over her, leaving her gasping in darkness.

Was she dead? Was this the darkness of a night sky? Would she follow the Mother Star to her final resting place amongst her ancestors?

But then something moved above her. Someone moved.

And suddenly, Hekla understood what the smothering darkness was, or, she should say, who it was. Eyvind gods-damned Hakonsson had thrown himself over her. Had somehow kept her from roasting to a crisp.

“Eyvind?” She gasped, rolling him gently off her and onto his back.

His low groan had her exhaling in relief.

He was alive, thank the gods above. But how?

Fires raged all around them—on the dais, the pillars, the turfed roofs surrounding the square.

Hekla’s gaze roamed over him as she tried to understand.

His hair was singed, and there were patches of burnt skin on his beautiful face, but the red cloak she hated so much was perfectly untouched.

“You fool of a man,” she choked out, even as her hands smoothed a singed lock of hair from his face. “You’ve burnt your pretty hair.” To her horror, tears gathered in her eyes.

Eyvind’s expression morphed into concern. “It will grow back.”

“You won’t be able to braid it!”

His hand stroked reassuringly along her left arm. “Then I shan’t.”

“But it is all different lengths! You’ll look a fool.” Hekla burned with embarrassment as she swiped a tear from her cheek.

Eyvind was losing the battle against a smile. “Then I’ll shave it all off. Perhaps I’ll adorn my skull with tattoos. What say you to another dragon?”

Hekla’s scowl could shatter stone. “You gods-damned golden boy, you simply had to go and risk your life like that!”

“Aye, but I did.”

She smacked his chest with her left hand. “No, you didn’t!”

Eyvind captured her wrist and yanked her down onto him. They were so near their noses nearly touched. “Yes,” whispered Eyvind, “I did.”

Hekla was beyond thinking—beyond reason and logic. Instinct took hold and she lowered her lips to his. Reveled in the way they fit together so perfectly. Their survival felt like one of Silla’s signs from the gods. This kiss was predestined. Fated. Championed by the highest powers of íseldur .

Flames raged all around them, the entire village now alight.

But the smoke and lingering rot of the Turned beasts faded away, as did the pain radiating from Hekla’s injuries.

Nothing mattered in this moment, because Eyvind was kissing her back—was telling her with his lips all the ways he cared for her.

How much he’d feared for her. How glad he was that she’d survived.

And in return, she told him how sorry she was for being so stubborn.

How she wished she’d trusted in him from the start. How she’d work on being more open.

This kiss was nothing like the ones they’d shared before.

Then, they’d been the Fox and the Lynx. But here, amid the flaming ruins of Istré, their lips met as Hekla and Eyvind, and there was something altogether different about that.

Hekla’s body felt as hot as the fires raging around them, and gods, but she wanted this man, right here, right now.

His grip on her hip turned rough and demanding, a low rumbling sound coming from deep in his chest, and Hekla was glad to find she was not alone in this. Not the only one feeling reckless and needy.

Eyvind drew back, just long enough to mutter, “Gods, I’ve wanted to?—”

But he didn’t finish the thought. His hand was in her hair, hauling Hekla’s mouth back down to his. She was melting against him, burning like the town all around them, ready to give herself to him right here and now.

A loud crack split the air, and they broke apart.

“The Hungry Blade,” said Eyvind, his gaze fixed on something over her shoulder. “It shall soon collapse.”

Propped on her left elbow, Hekla’s chest heaved as she looked down at him, her insides shimmering with desire and need. But the collapse of the beam was the reminder she needed. They were in the midst of an inferno and had to get out of here.

“Later,” she muttered in promise to Eyvind—to herself—not bothering to clarify what she meant by the statement.

Slowly, Hekla sat up, their reality coming into stark focus.

Istré was a bonfire, the whole town alight.

Horror and sorrow battled within Hekla as she wondered how it had come to this.

Carcasses of Turned beasts littered the road, some smoldering like the homes around them.

But her gaze snagged on Eyvind’s red cloak, still a pristine, brilliant red. Hekla frowned.

Following her gaze, Eyvind lifted the hem of his red cloak, utterly unmarred by the blast that had decimated the square. “Fireproof,” he said proudly. “A safety precaution for Galdra Ashbringers.”

Her gaze shot to his. “Is this how you know Axe Eyes?”

Eyvind pushed to his feet and offered Hekla a hand up. “Aye,” he said. “Rey fostered with us one summer, and the rest is history. A good, solid warrior to call friend.” He slid an arm around Hekla’s shoulder and steered her toward Istré’s main thoroughfare.

“Eyvind,” said Hekla, stepping around a Turned grimwolf corpse, “your father.”

The arm around her shoulder stiffened, and Eyvind let out a long exhale. “Someone once told me that sometimes those we love most are undeserving.”

“That someone sounds wise.”

From the corner of her eye, she caught the quirk of his lips. “On some occasions, perhaps. On others, a mulish, self-sacrificing fool.”

Hekla harrumphed. But she rested her head on his shoulder and whispered, “You did the right thing. Your choice saved many lives tonight.”

It might have been her imagination, but the tension in Eyvind’s muscles seemed to ease just a touch.

“ We saved many lives,” he corrected.

Hekla huffed. “I suppose that makes us both self-sacrificing fools.”

Eyvind squeezed her shoulders. “I suppose it does.”