His husky whisper was hot against her cheek. “A worthy tribute indeed. But I intend to claim the final prize.” Lupine eyes locked on hers, he raised her hand and lowered his bearded lips to kiss her trembling fingers. “And earn the chance to win your hand.”
While the music played, he swirled her under the stars, wrapping her possessively in his brawny arms. The side of his lip curled up into a wolfish snarl, warning other warriors that he would not share her.
As she swooned in his arms, overwhelmed by his seductive scent and the surge ofseidrbetween them, she spotted herfaðirdancing with Princess Dagny, his bearded face alight with joy. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Ulric, her weapons master and mentor, dancing with the pretty daughter of a visiting jarl. Astrid was in the arms of a handsome warrior, and Yrsa, her eerie blue face aglow in the moonlight, beckoned Brynhildr to approach the tent where the seeress was reading runes.
“Come,” Brynhildr whispered, linking her elbow through Sigurd’s and leading him toward thevölva’spavilion in the dark alcove at the base of her private tower.
A sudden thought emerged, as if whispered by the gods.
I can slip him into the hidden stairwell. The wild roses and their claw-shaped thorns will shield us from view. No one will see us slip up to my room…
A violent shiver shuddered through her.
The Norns are weaving us together in their tightly spun web of wyrd.
Sheltered in a shadowy corner near a stone wall of the fortress, the black silk of Yrsa’s tent shimmered in the moonlight. The open entrance was draped with leather strands adorned with glimmering crystals, glistening silver talismans, bone fragments, raven feathers, and clusters of fragrant herbs. As Brynhildr led Sigurd inside the eerie abode, the exotic aroma of myrrh burning in the brazier mingled with the saline scent of the sea.
Yrsa’s piercing eyes glowed as she rose from a low, cushioned stool. “The threads of fate have entwined you both,” she murmured, her haunting voice a whisper of wind. “The wolf and the falcon draw near their destined dance.” With a skeletal hand, gloved in black cat leather, she gestured to the blue silk spread across her small table. “And now, Sun Falcon and Sea Wolf, let us see what the Norns have woven for this fateful night.”
Heart hammering, mouth parched, Brynhildr darted a glance at Sigurd, who inclined his wolfskin-clad head. “We are ready, Yrsa,” she whispered, breathless with anticipation. “Show us our destined path.”
Thevölva’sdeepblue face gleamed in the firelight, black runes etched along her neck shimmering as if alive. Silver threads in her indigo gown glittered like stars, the crystals and raven feathers which adorned her long black cloak glistening as she reached for her gnarled ashwood staff. Yrsa thumped the ground rhythmically and began humming a melodic chant, withdrawing three juniper berries from a small pouch at her waist, which she cast into the fire. As their crackle released the sharp scent of pine, thevölvadeeply inhaled the sweet, spicy smoke, singing avardlokkurto invoke the three Norns.
“Urðr of the deep well, where wolf’s blood flows and falcon wings beat…
Verðandi of the waking hour, where paths are hidden in the starlit night…
Skuld of bonds sworn in blood and fire, which even the gods may not break…
Unveil myvölvaeyes… and reveal yourwyrdthrough my runes.”
Her chant complete, Yrsa leaned the staff back against the wall of the tent, the amber bead encased in bronze at its tip glowing in the golden flames. She removed her black leather gloves and laid them upon the stool behind her, thenunfastened a black velvet pouch from her belt, and shook it solemnly in her bare hands.
With long, slender fingers, she withdrew a trio of small oval bones, each etched with a single rune, blackened with dried blood. One by one, she laid the ivory pieces upon the deep blue silk, interpreting each rune with otherworldlyseiðrsight.
Yrsa’s pointed fingernail traced the first rune. “Jera… symbol of eternal life. The seeds have been sown… fruit shall be borne… your two fates forever entwined.”
As if he sensed how her legs trembled beneath the emerald gown, Sigurd took hold of Brynhildr’s hand, his sizzling touch both comforting and thrilling.
When she gazed up at him, feral hunger blazed in his fierce lupine eyes.
Thevölva’sethereal voice wafted on wisps of sweet smoke as she read the second bone rune. “Dagaz… the dawn of awakening. Thorned roses climb stones and hide the night…In darkness comes light. Tonight, the ring is revealed.”
A chill shivered through Brynhildr.Thorned roses climb stones and hide the night… the stone wall which conceals myprivate courtyard… the secret stairwell that leads up into the tower…
“The final mark isKaun…the rune of fire and transformation.” Yrsa’s otherworldly gaze swept between Brynhildr and Sigurd. “Dragonfireshall sear your skin and seal your bond—which even the gods may not break.”
Fingertips touching the trio of runes, far-seeing eyes fixed on the flames, Yrsa voiced her otherworldly vision. “When the falcon cries and the wolf howls… the dragon shall leave its mark. The eternal return, a bond of blood and fire… beyond the web ofwyrd.”
As her prophecy lingered in the herb-laced smoke inside the dim tent, Yrsa gathered the blood-etched bone runes and slipped them back into her black velvet pouch. “The Norns have revealed your interwoven fate. Go, Sun Falcon and Sea Wolf…and let starlight andseiðrguide your destined path.”
As Sigurd reverently inclined his head in gratitude to Yrsa, Brynhildr grasped his warm, calloused hand. “Follow me,” she murmured, leading him from the darkened tent and out into the starlit night.
She cast a quick glance across the courtyard and out over the wildflower-strewn meadow. Musicians played, villagers mingled, and guests danced in raucous revelry around the roaring bonfire. Warriors sparred in mock battles, the Sea Wolves of Sjóborg howling in approval, their wolfskin cloaks gleaming in the firelight. In a shadowed corner of the courtyard, leaning against the castle stone, Brynhildr spotted one of theSjórúlfar, clad in wolfskin as black as his long, wild hair and braided beard. The amber eyes of the massive beast that crowned his human head gleamed in the moonglow. As he watched her and Sigurd with otherworldly, knowing intent, a ripple ofseiðrshook her trembling limbs.
Near the heart of the enormous fire, her royalfaðirbellowed with laughter, dancing with a delighted Princess Dagny. Ulric Ironshield spun the lovelydóttirof Jarl Hróald from Bjørndal, and Astrid still swirled in the brawny arms of her handsome warrior.
Brynhildr led Sigurd swiftly and silently away, toward the stone wall concealed beneath thick brambled vines of wild pink roses. The sweet floral scent mingled with the fresh tang of the fjord and the salty brine of the sea as she whisked Sigurd around the thorn-capped rampart which sheltered her private courtyard.
