While the two otherskáldsremained standing near their bench, Skallagrímr ascended the dais steps. His golden circlet and raven brooch gleamed in the firelight, and the deep green leather of his flute was etched with glisteningUruzrunes. Clutching his lute in one hand and cradling the golden lyreSólfjaðrin the other, he bowed first to Budli, then to Brynhildr, and finally to his own monarch, Prince Agnar, the Bear of Bjarkhölm..
Laying his instruments reverently beside his reserved chair, he settled into the carved oaken seat and inclined his crowned golden head to the cheering crowd.
Budli raised his elkhorn high and proposed a tribute. “Let all hearts and horns honor theSkáld of the Sólhjarta Tournament, whose golden song has glorified my beloveddóttir,the Sun Falcon Shieldmaiden of Hrafnfjall!”
As shouts of “Skál!” thundered through the hall, Brynhildr’s eyes were drawn to Sigurd.
A wolfish grin curled his blond bearded lips, the deep blue beads braided in his golden beard glittering like sunlight on the sea. He bowed his head and tipped his horn to her, raising the golden mead to his bearded lips. Feral eyes locked upon hers, heswallowed, sending a wave of desire through her, like the sea, the sun, andseiðrmagic searing her soul.
As Yrsa snickered softly at her side, Budli’sbooming voice bellowed through the hall. “The sun has set, and the moon is rising. Come, let us dance around the bonfire, beneath the emerging stars!”
Chapter 7
Sealed in Starlight and Seiðr
The waxing moon illuminated the deep violet night sky. Beyond the flagstone courtyard where warriors trained each day, an enormous bonfire roared in a stone enclosure upon a grassy clearing, while market stalls lined the pebbled paths that led down into the village. The aromas of sizzling meats, roasted nuts, and oatcakes spiced with cinnamon and honey mingled with the briny tang of the fjord and smoke from the festival fire.
Lively music floated in the salty breeze as musicians played and guests danced in wild abandon around the leaping flames. Sigurd lurked in a shadowed corner where the fortress wall met a stone pillar, the firelight flickering across the courtyard where he could watch her without being seen.
Flames gilded her golden hair, the emeralds in her silver crown glittering in the starlight. Her deep green gown clung to her curves, her sinuous movements awakening his primal hunger. As she swirled and twirled in Agnar’s arms, her bright laughter, like warm sunlight on the icy fjord, sent tight coils of restless energy seething through him.
Throughout the entire first week of events in theSólhjartaTournament, he’d felt her eyes upon him. Every move he’d made—every triumph, every win—had been for her.
He’d run faster, swum harder, and defeated every opponent while she watched him with her piercing falcon eyes. And whenhe’d hurledÚlfspjót— the Wolf Spear gifted by King Rögnvaldr—he’d sensed a surge of power sizzle up his arm.
As if the Sun Falcon had infused the Sea Wolf with the sameseiðrmagic that Kveld Nightwolf wielded when reading runes.
“Sulking in dark shadows while the other champions celebrate.” Kveld’s deep voice penetrated the gloom as he joined Sigurd and leaned against the stone wall. The amber eyes of the black wolf nestled atop his human head glowed otherworldly in the moonlight. When Kveld’s shrewd gaze found Sigurd staring at Brynhildr, the Nightwolf smirked, a corner of his scarred, bearded face curved up in a knowing grin. “You’ve been watching her with feral hunger all week long. Waiting for the right moment to pounce?”
Sigurd couldn’t explain it. He hadn’t even spoken to her yet, but he knew she was destined to be his. The web ofwyrdflowed like wildfire through his wolf blood, igniting his Völsung veins.
When the music stopped and the dance ended, he muttered to Kveld, “Now is my chance. May Odin favor me this fateful night.”
Leaving the Nightwolf in the dark shadows, Sigurd loped across the moonlit courtyard.
* * * *
The threads of fate tugged at her spine as he slinked from the shadows, wolfish eyes locked on her like a predator sensing its prey. The salty night air thrummed withseiðr,shimmering in the moonglow and starlight. Brynhildr had danced for him all night, enticing the Sea Wolf with soft laughter and sultry movements to draw him from the darkness.
Into her alluring golden light.
“All night I have watched you dance with others. At long last, I may claim one for myself.” Grey blue wolfskin gleaming in the moonlight, feral eyes fixed upon hers, Sigurd Sea Wolf folded a brawny arm across his broad chest, bowed at the waist, andgallantly offered her a scarred hand. As he flashed her a wolfish smile, his white teeth shone above his braided blond beard, the lapis gems woven into his golden hair glittering like the starlit sea. “Will you dance with me, my lady?”
The deep rumble of his voice reverberated into her very bones. “I would be delighted,” Brynhildr murmured, his disarming smile washing over her like the sea flooding the fjord. “All night long, I have danced for you.” When she placed her hand into his,seiðrscorched her skin.
The music began anew, and he swept her into his arms, cradling her against his wide chest. As he swirled her to the mellow lute and the rhythmic pounding of the drums, she inhaled his tantalizing scent of wolfskin, woodsmoke, andwant.
“You are truly an exceptional warrior,” she whispered, her voice faltering in his unsettling, compelling presence. “I have watched you triumph in every trial.” She barely resisted nuzzling the tuft of blond hair which peeked from the top of his blue tunic. A shiver rippled up her spine at the thought of tracing her fingertips over the tattoos she’d glimpsed amidst the dark blond hair across his chest and down his rugged arms.
Instead, she traced the markings in the thick silver torc which gleamed in the firelight upon his right arm. “The raven of Hrafnfjall…the summer solstice sun…eyes of lapis lazuli, as blue as the fjord… and the gems braided into your golden beard.” When she looked up at him, fierce pride and feral hunger warred in his warrior eyes. “A magnificent prize for the champions in the first round of theSólhjartaTournament.” Legs trembling beneath her long green gown, she quavered under the intensity of his penetrating gaze.
He is the son of the slain King Sigmund, a Völsung descendant of Odin.
She thought of the trinity of gifts bestowed by Freyja—the golden corsletFalkhjarta,the magnificent swordSólfalkr,andthe enchanted shield,Falkskjöldr.Her goddessmóðirhad said that no mortal man could defeat her.
Yet, if Sigurd Sea Wolf had the blood of Odin coursing through his Völsung veins… Could he triumph in the final challenge?
And win the right to wed her?
