That night, at the feast, her searching gaze had found him seated among theSjórúlfar,the firelight in herfaðir’sroyal hall wreathing Sigurd’s wolfskin cloak in shimmery sapphire. He’d pierced her with fierce lupine eyes and seared her soul with a scorching smile.
All week long, she’d watched him. He ran more swiftly and swam more surely than the other warriors, as if he were indeed a Sea Wolf. Tonight, at the feast, herfaðirwould present gifts to the ten competitors—including Sigurd fromSjóborg—who had won the preliminary trials and would therefore advance to the next round of events in the Summer Solstice Tournament.
There would be a thrilling competition of threeskálds, each vying for the prestigious title ofSkáld of the Sólhjarta Tournament.
And after the bountiful feast, guests would dance around a bonfire beneath the stars.
Brynhildr’s legs trembled under her silk gown at the thought of being in the Sea Wolf’s arms.
If just looking at him sends shivers of seiðr up my spine, what will it be like to touch him?
A shudder of anticipation shook her whole body.
“A silver circlet embedded with emeralds, to match your gown.” Astrid’s velvety voice interrupted Brynhildr’s reverie and brought her back to the balcony overlooking the sunlit fjord. Her smiling maid placed the slender crown atop Brynhildr’s intricately braided blonde locks. “This silk is the same color as your eyes,” Astrid whispered with wonder, indicating the glorious hue of the elaborate gown. “Neither blue nor green, but a blend of both—the fjord and the forest combined.”
“You’ll turn the heads of all warriors tonight in that sumptuous silk.” Yrsa entered the room from the door behind them, Inga close at her side.
As Brynhildr spun toward thevölva, the bright blue woad paint on Yrsa’s striking face was all the more startling in the brilliant sunlight which streamed through the open balcony doors. Black runes were etched along her neck, her black cloak adorned with raven feathers, glittering beads, and polished bones. Yrsa’s midnight blue gown shimmered with silver threads, and black gloves covered her long arms. Atop her dark hair rested a thin silver coronet, etched with ravens and runes and embellished with a single lapis gem. In thevölva’sgloved hand, the amber stone encased in bronze filigree glowed golden atop her gnarled ashwood staff.
A sly grin curved Yrsa’s painted lips, the white of her teeth a stark contrast to the deep blue which covered her intriguing face. “Are you ready? It’s time for the feast.”
Pulse pounding, mouth parched, Brynhildr inhaled deeply to calm her jagged nerves. As Astrid closed the doors on the balcony, she nodded.
And led them all out the carved oaken door.
* * * *
They descended the stairs from Brynhildr’s private quarters on the third level of the tower to the ground floor where a stone passage led to the clifftop fortress. Four armored guardsawaited, ready to escort them through the covered walkway and into the Great Hall where the feast was being held.
The emerald silk of her gown shimmered in the golden sun as they passed the courtyard where she trained each day with Ulric. Soon it would be alive with music and motion, asskáldsperformed, harpists played, and guests danced around the bonfire after the bountiful feast.
A shiver of anticipation rippled up Brynhildr’s spine.
Tonight, I shall dance with him.
When Brynhildr, Yrsa, Inga, and Astrid paused at the double entrance doors opened wide onto the festive Great Hall, a royal herald, clad in herfaðir’ssigil colors of black, blue, and silver, strode into the center of the teeming throng to publicly announce her arrival. Escorted by four armored royal guards, his deep, resonant voice boomed, echoing off the wooden walls.
“All hail Brynhildr Budladóttir, Sun Falcon Shieldmaiden of Hrafnfjall! And with her, thevölvaYrsa. The seer who walks between realms!”
At the high table, King Budli majestically rose, his thick red hair and russet beard braided with blue beads which glinted in the golden sun. Atop his regal head, the silver crown glistened like the fox fur trim of his black cloak and the raven hilt of his swordHrafntönn, sheathed at his belted waist.
King Álfr and Queen Hjördis, clad in grey wolf fur and deep blue silk, their silver crowns set with waves, wolves, and sparkling lapis gems, rose at Budli’s royal side.
King Eirikr of Ryfylke and Princess Dagny, the lovely, dark-haireddóttirhe had brought to the Summer Solstice Tournament with the hopes of enticing the widowed Raven King, stood to welcome Brynhildr as well.
Chainmailbrynjasgleaming in the evening sunlight, their magnificent cloaks fastened with enormous silver raven brooches whose lapis eyes flickered with streaks of gold, thehúskarlarapproached to escort Brynhildr and Yrsa to the high table.
Two guards flanking each woman, they ushered Brynhildr first, followed by Yrsa, across the pinewood floor and up the wooden steps of the elevated dais, where the standing monarchs awaited.
Pausing before herfaðir, Brynhildr lowered her crowned head in deference to him as the royal host.
Budli placed a bejeweled hand upon her shoulder, acknowledging her as hisdóttirand honoring her as the highlight of the feast. He nodded respectfully to Yrsa, recognizing her as a reveredvölva.
The fourhúskarlarwithdrew the ornate chairs carved with ravens, runes, and sunbursts, seating Brynhildr beside herfaðirand Yrsa upon her right.
Inga and Astrid, who had followed Brynhildr and Yrsa across the hall, slipped quietly to the small table assigned to them nearby.
Once Brynhildr and Yrsa were seated, Budli sank back onto hisöndvegithrone, and the remaining monarchs resumed their places at the royal table.
