Page 16

“ I need you to know that I will always protect you.”

The words echoed in Hakon’s mind again and again. He’d been woken from his content slumber to Talvinen hovering above him, eyes bright with alertness and filled with sincerity.

“Whatever happens, I need you to know that I’ll always protect you,” he’d promised as if he meant it and pushed Isbani into Hakon’s waiting hand.

Chest filled with warmth, Hakon rose quickly, slipping on his breeches and boots as he went, and stepped next to his husband. Maybe he should’ve laughed at Talvinen’s strange antics, but instead, he was ready to defend him against beasts or bandits, no matter which foe dared to show itself.

For a few heartbeats, the barn was silent, the smell of fresh hay and their lovemaking tickling Hakon’s nose. Then he heard it. A rustling. The sound of a twig snapping. There was someone out there, creeping towards the barn, trying to be silent.

Putting a finger to his lips, Talvinen grinned at him, the giddy excitement of a young warrior in the face of impending battle.

“Raiders,” he whispered in Hakon’s ear. “At least five at the door. Three more on the roof.”

Hakon couldn’t help but return the smile and, on a whim, pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Talvinen’s mouth.

A soft clattering above them had Hakon looking up. Someone tried to open the shutter high in the hayloft. Talvinen followed his gaze.

“You take the ones from the roof. I’ll kill whoever comes through the door.”

Before Hakon could complain about this arrangement, the barn door was forced open, and the raiders stormed in, five of them, as Talvinen had said. They were Vanir , berserkers dressed only in bearskins and furs, their faces smeared with runes. They stormed into the barn, screaming, but did not immediately spot them. No doubt, they’d imagined they had stumbled upon their prey asleep.

Hakon tensed, not with fear, but with the thrill of the coming battle. He knew they were outnumbered, but he couldn’t wait to fight alongside his husband. He wanted to witness Talvinen’s prowess in battle again.

Searching his gaze, Talvinen nodded curtly.

Like a deadly avalanche, Talvinen unleashed his seier . Arm-length shards of ice rained down on the berserkers like a shower of arrows. The barn was suddenly filled with grunts and screams, and Talvinen lunged at the men who hadn’t already fallen under his spell. The first mercenary barely had time to react before Talvi’s blade cleaved into his neck, blood spraying in a crimson mist. The second tried to parry, but Talvinen was faster, his sword finding a gap in the man’s defense and stabbing deep into his chest.

Grinning, Hakon watched the display. It was an absolute delight to witness Talvinen fight. But all too soon, he had to focus on the attackers on the roof. The shutter flew open, and a man jumped in, enveloped in dust and sunlight. Hakon jumped up the rafters and onto the hayloft to meet him halfway.

The berserker greeted him with a furious blow, growling at Hakon with a mouthful of filed teeth. Hakon parried a hasty slash aimed at his side and countered with a swift upward thrust. His blade sliced through flesh and struck bone, sending the berserker crashing to the barn floor with a gurgling cry. Another attacker came at him, but Hakon was ready, balancing lithely across a beam and intercepting the attack. Their swords clashed and Hakon gave the man a powerful shove, sending the raider off-balance and crashing to the ground. He landed with a sickening thud . Hakon thought he heard bones breaking, but he jumped after him anyway, plunging Isbani into the berserker’s gut. He wouldn’t leave a foe alive who could get into Talvinen’s back.

Looking around for his next target, Hakon couldn’t help but admire how Talvinen fought—not with brute strength like so many warriors, but with finesse, turning every movement into a deadly dance. He didn’t even need his seier ; every opponent who dared to approach him met a swift end. For a moment, Hakon forgot the danger they were in, watching as his husband cut down man after man with terrifying ease. A god of death in his element.

“You fight beautifully,” Hakon mumbled, breathless from both the combat and the sight of Talvinen’s effortless violence. Hel , how did Hakon deserve such a perfect warrior at his side?

Whirling around, Talvinen felled a berserker who’d appeared soundlessly behind Hakon with a thrown ice shard in his throat.

Talvinen flashed a quick grin. “I told you I’d protect you.”

The words did something funny to Hakon, equally dizzying and grounding. But he had no time to stop and analyze his feelings—the fight was far from over. But Hakon could tell by the hesitant way the remaining berserkers regarded them that they weren’t so confident of their victory anymore. Surely they hadn’t expected to face a warrior like Talvinen, deadly and graceful, with both sword and seier .

One of the raiders made an angry attempt to charge at Hakon, screaming as he raised his sword high, but Hakon was ready. He sidestepped the attack, swinging Isbani low and dealing a deep cut to the front of the man’s legs. Howling, the raider hit the ground, and Hakon quickly finished him with a clean strike.

The last two men hesitated, glancing at each other and then at the carnage around them. Their comrades lay dead or dying, and Talvinen stood in the center of the barn, his sword raised, eyes gleaming with the promise of more death.

“Who sent you?” Talvinen growled. “Tell me now, and I’ll make your deaths quick.”

For a second the barn was filled with silence, then one of the berserkers roared, his eyes rolling back in his skull. His scream was echoed by more voices coming from the woods outside. Hel , how many of them were there?

Before Talvinen could unleash another seier , an arrow whizzed through the open door of the barn, burying itself in the berserker’s throat. Was that Thyra and her warriors coming to their aid?

“Come!” Talvinen grasped him by the hand and finished off the last visible attacker in passing just as the man was pierced by a second arrow. “This way.”

The golden sunlight of the morning was swallowed by a billowing fog creeping up through the forest, but Talvinen seemed to know exactly where they needed to go. They ran down a narrow pathway, deep into the underbrush, the forest filled with strange screams and guttural noises.

“Talvi,” Hakon hissed as he saw the shadow of a man appearing in the mist in front of them.

But Talvinen didn’t hesitate. He headed straight for the man, who carried a bow and a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder.

“Uncle Njord,” Talvinen said happily.

The man pulled down his hood, a tall warrior who appeared to be a decade older than Hakon. But considering he was a god of the Vanir , he could be centuries old. Though his hair was longer and a dark shade of brown, not black like Talvinen’s, and his eyes had the slate-gray color of the rough sea, the family resemblance was undeniable. Talvi could look very similar in a few decades, and Hakon was embarrassed about how much he liked the idea.

“Talvi,” the Lord of Nóatún smiled. “It’s so good to see you again.”

Opening his arms, he pulled Talvinen into a crushing hug. The sight made Hakon’s stomach churn with unease. This man was Talvinen’s real family. The people he belonged to. What if he grew tired of Hakon as soon as he was reunited with them?

As if reading his thoughts, Talvinen glanced at Hakon over his shoulder and beckoned him to come closer.

“Meet my husband. This is—”

“Hakon Bloodaxe. Prince of Jotunheim,” Njord said.

“Yes.” Freeing himself from his uncle’s embrace, Talvinen threw an arm around Hakon’s shoulders.

“I’m no prince,” Hakon grumbled.

Njord took in their ruffled appearance, both of them drenched in the blood of their enemies and laughed. “You are a prince in the eyes of our laws.” He slapped Hakon on the shoulder. “Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you.” Hakon wasn’t prepared for a warm welcome into any family, but Njord seemed pleased enough with his nephew’s choice.

“What are you doing here?” Talvinen asked.

All cheerfulness drained from Njord’s features. “Taking revenge,” he said, voice as cold as the depths of the sea. “But there’s no time to chatter. My lie camps down by the fjord. Svanhild is there, as is Sveinn. It was him who paid the raiders to kill you.”

Talvinen bristled. “I’ll end them both.”

“You will,” Njord promised. “But not yet. I didn’t infiltrate their camp for nothing. I’m still hoping to gain information on your mothers’ whereabouts.”

“The priestesses. I knew it,” Talvi groused. “We should’ve chased them out of the realm and razed their sacred places to the ground.”

“Not so fast,” Njord interrupted, putting a calming hand on Talvinen’s shoulder. “They aren’t all the same. But Svanhild is a rotten apple for sure.”

While the two Vanir talked, Hakon watched the forest. There were still raiders looking for them, he was sure of it, but no one came near their hiding place. Had Njord woven a seier to disguise them?

“It would be best if you continued your journey. Ride down the fjord to Liv’s hall. You’ll be safe there.”

Talvinen hesitated, an adorable frown on his face. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Stunned by the open way Talvinen spoke to his uncle, Hakon was sure that Njord would get angry. At the very least, he expected that the older Vanr would refuse to answer his nephew’s impudent questions.

“Dammit, Talvi,” Njord growled. “Ride to the camp if you must. Come to my tent. But we must let Sveinn and Svanhild live for now.”

“Good.” Talvinen smiled smugly, clearly the nephew who enjoyed annoying his uncle.

Njord rolled his eyes, but a small smile was tugging at his lips, too. Hakon had no idea what had just happened. Was Talvinen’s whole family like that? Friendly and dangerous and slightly mad?

“I’ve brought horses for you.” Njord sighed. “Fetch Thyra from the farm and meet me at Sveinn’s camp.”

As they hurried back to the little farmstead by the forest, Talvinen rode close by Hakon’s side. As soon as they’d reunited with Thyra and the other warriors, they traveled further down the fjord and Talvinen grew tense. Concerned. Hakon had never seen him like this. He knew his husband to be fearless, reckless, even. What could’ve elicited this sudden swing in his mood?

“Why does this Sveinn want to kill you?” Hakon asked. He needed to understand what was going on if he wanted to console his husband.

“He’s a merchant, capturing slaves in the other realms to sell them as thralls. He wishes for a different ruler in Vanaheim and he isn’t fond of my mothers, either.”

Hakon chuckled. “I’m starting to like your mothers. They know how to make friends.”

To Hakon’s delight, his words elicited a brief smile from Talvinen. “He used to raid our own settlements. Tried to blame the ?sir for it. My mothers taught him a lesson he has neither forgotten nor forgiven.”

“A man holding a grudge can be dangerous. What about the priestess your uncle talked about?”

“Svanhild,” Talvinen said with anger in his voice. “An ambitious vala . Not as powerful as my mothers, though, which irks her a lot. She’s like a raven feasting on a corpse, always trying to exploit weakness, always bringing bad news.”

A hostile vala . Hakon could deal with that.

“They’ll think that they can get to me through you,” Talvinen said darkly. “You have to be careful. Stay close to me.”

It was suddenly hard to breathe.

“You’re worried for me,” Hakon said.

It was a simple statement, but he felt its truth deep in his bones. Hakon suddenly had a hard time keeping the memories of last night at bay, Talvinen above him, his seier inside him, Talvi telling him he loved him, followed by his vows of protection in the morning. His husband realigned the strings of Hakon’s fate yet again.

“Of course.” Talvinen frowned. He didn’t even know what he was doing to Hakon with his talk about concern and love, the utter fool.

“You’re not afraid for yourself,” Hakon pressed on. “And you do not fear that I’ll be a liability either.”

Talvinen looked horrified; as if these thoughts hadn’t even crossed his mind. How was Hakon supposed to teach him to be less gentle?

“My only concern is for your safety. I made a rash decision that could put you in danger. I should’ve listened to my uncle instead.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Hakon said. “Frekegar is right, you know? You should be more careful, more concerned about yourself .”

Features hardening, Talvinen grasped his hand. Hakon let himself be pulled closer, ignoring that they were both on horseback. Their knees brushed as their horses came closer, and Hakon didn’t even care if Thyra or the other warriors saw their display of affection.

“Don’t let us waste time discussing this nonsense,” Talvinen said. “I’ll never give you up. Arngrim understands that. That’s why he’s so angry. But he’ll get over it. And as for this topic, not even you can change my mind.”

A sense of calm and safety washed over Hakon, unfamiliar, but already deeply associated with Talvinen.

“You’re crazy,” Hakon mumbled, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice.

“I’m crazy about you.”

“Did I say you could be a skald? I take it back—” Hakon wheezed, shaking with laughter. He clung to Talvinen’s hand so that he wouldn’t slip out of the saddle, even as warmth filled his chest.

“Is that so?” Talvinen chuckled.

Tilting his head, Hakon hid his smile. He sighed. Maybe it was time he accepted his fate. His honor may have been forfeit, but he couldn’t be bitter about it if Talvinen kept treating him like this.

“I’ll be careful,” Hakon promised. “You won’t have to worry about me.”