Tonight, he had avenged hisfaðir.
Tomorrow, he would join Agnar.
And together—with a trinity ofbloodswornkings and hisSjórúlfarwolfbrothers—he would reclaim the Völsung crown.
Chapter 24
Reclaiming the Völsung Crown
Brynhildr longed for Sigurd.
It had been more than a moon since he’d brought her to Hlymdalir. She could no longer watch him through the Mirrored Sea ofFólkvangr,and without that liquid window to peer into his fate, her heart was heavy as lead.
She missed Kára and Skögul, her Valkyrie sisters of the Laguz Triad. Himingdrápa, her majestic winged horse. And Gyllin, her golden falcon, thebloodboundmessenger who had found Sigurd in Midgard and told him where Odin had trapped her in theRing of Fire.
No longer did she dwell in her stone cottage near the Amber Hall ofSessrúmnir. Now she lived in a limestone castle at the mouth of the Rhône River on the Middle Sea. The sun was warm, the marshlands shimmered beneath wide skies, and the briny breeze carried the song of seabirds—yet without Sigurd, the breathtaking beauty of the Camargue rang hollow.
Each day, she cared for Grani, his majestic silver stallion, brushing his mane until it gleamed like moonlight. She tended Skug as well, Kveld’s powerful black steed, restless beneath foreign stars, and the two warhorses, Skarnhófr and Sköllvindr. When she rode them across the mist-laced marshes, the salty wind whipping her long blonde hair and their silky manes, she imagined soaring through the sky upon Himingdrápa, winging her way toward Sigurd.
And each night, theouroborosabove her empty heart—and the golden wedding band upon her forlorn finger—blazeddragonfirethrough her lonely Sun Falcon veins.
Brynhildr had just slid from Grani’s saddle when Heimir’s watchtower sentinel blew a horn to announce an arrival. Dashing up the stairs to her private chamber over the Rhône, she opened the doors onto her balcony and watched asSjáfaxisnaked down the dark river, the white stallion on the deep blue sail billowing in the warm spring breeze.
Heimir’s men threw ropes to Ingólfr’s crew, docking thesnekkjaalongside the wooden quay. They furled the sail, lowered the mast, and unloaded supplies from the ship.
Blue woolen cloak flapping in the tangy river breeze, silver hair shimmering in the late afternoon sun, Heimir stood upon the dock to greet the captain and returning crew while Brynhildr watched from above.
Let them bathe. Let them drink. Tonight, at náttmál, I shall ask about Sigurd.
Her heart soared like Himingdrápa through the sun-streaked sky.
* * * *
The crew ofSjáfaxiwere settled at trestle tables, tearing into the salted boar and roast venison, passing platters of grilleddoradefish and steaming oysters, mussels, and shrimp fresh from the marsh and the sea. At the high table in the Great Hall of Hlymdalir, Brynhildr sat with King Heimir, her gaze fixed on Ingólfr as he recounted the voyage north along the Rhône.
“Sigurd Sea Wolf is more than a dragonslayer,” the captain ofSjáfaxiquipped with a beard-splitting grin. “He alsounderstands birds.” Ingólfr drained his horn of mead and swiped a sleeve across his bristled lips. “Ravens over the Rhône told him that Gunnar and Högni—the two eldest sons of the Burgundian River King Gjúki—were being held captive byenemy Franks. Sigurd and thevitki—Kveld Nightwolf—led us north through the woods to their camp.We ambushed them under cover of night and freed the imprisoned princes. In the chaos, we claimed a dozenUlfberhtswords—the most prized blades from the Frankish lands.”
He rose from the table and proudly unsheathed a magnificent sword, its dark steel etched with fine lines that glistened like feathers in the firelight. “Hrafnkall—Raven’s Call—named for the messengers that spoke to Sigurd.”Displaying the superb craftsmanship of his Frankish blade for Heimir and Brynhildr to admire, Ingólfr returned the sword to the scabbard at his hip and sat back down in the seat of honor at Heimir’s right side.
“Gunnar and Högni were so grateful to Sigurd for freeing them that they swore a blood oath of brotherhood right there, upon the shores of the Rhône.” Ingólfr drew a long pull of mead before continuing his tale. “They insisted that we all come with them to Rhônehöll, theirfaðir’sriverfront fortress, for a victory feast. When King Gjúki learned that Sigurd had rescued Gunnar and Högni and had sworn the blood oath with them both, he granted twosnekkja—one for each of his sons to command—to join in Sigurd’s quest for vengeance against Lyngvi of Götaland.”
Ingólfr leaned forward to speak to Brynhildr on Heimir’s other side. “He asked me to tell you that he loves you, and that once he has avenged hisfaðirand reclaimed the Völsung crown, he’ll return for you here in Hlymdalir. And bring you home to Norway as his queen.”
Brynhildr’s heart fluttered like Gyllin’s golden wings.
“King Gjúki and I have an uneasy truce,” Heimir informed Brynhildr. “Long has he coveted Hlymdalir, with its control of river trade on the Rhône and its harbor on the Middle Sea.” A kind smile crinkled the weathered skin around his twinkling eyes as he beheld her. “You are my only kin,” he murmured,raising her hand to his white-bearded lips. “One day, Hlymdalir shall be yours.” He grinned from ear to ear. “Though your husband Sigurd will bring you home to Norway, your heirs will inherit the Camargue.”
A wave of fierce joy flooded her, the new warmth in her womb pulsing in response.
Heimir’s bright smile dimmed. “I do not fear women with the gift of sight,” he said quietly. “Theseiðrof avölvais sacred.” Wariness furrowed his wrinkled brow. “But Gjúki’s queen Grímhildr is amalva— a sorceress who wields power for greed and ambition.”
Torches flickered in the Great Hall.
An icy chill slithered up Brynhildr’s spine.
“I have seen warriors undone by such women,” Heimir cautioned, his deep voice ominous and haunting. “Amalvadoes not strike with steel. She weakens will… clouds memory… unbinds oath.” He raised his horn to Brynhildr. “When Sigurd returns, Kveld Nightwolf—thevitkiin black wolfskinwith all-seeing amber eyes—shall bind Hylmdalir with runes and ward stones. No dark spell shall pass our gates unchallenged.”
Brynhildr clinked her horn against Heimir’s.
