Distant. Dazed. Distracted.
Brynhildr gazed at the triplebindruneKveld had carved into the deck, remembering the blood oath she and Sigurd had sworn inseiðrand starlight. As if he read her thoughts, Kveld appeared at her side and spoke quietly into her ear. “I know you carry Sigurd’s child,” he said softly, his deep voice comforting and reassuring. “Adóttir, to be born on the winter solstice.” He raised her hand to his bristled lips, a knowing smile splitting his braided black beard. Warning flared in his shrewd amber eyes. “We cannot return to Rhônehöll, for the queen will sense the babe—and you both shall be in grave danger.”
He pointed east toward the alpine mountains. “We are close to the monastery with the sacred spring. You must bathe Sigurd in its healing waters, to cleanse him of the curse, as he once did for you. And make love in the moonlight—that thedragonfireof theouroborosbinding your souls throughseiðrwill burn away all traces of themalva’smalevolent spell.”
The tangy breeze from the river snapped the wolf sail above them, ruffling the black fur of his gleaming wolfskin cloak. “Tonight, do not drink the ale. We shall make our escape when they fall into a drugged sleep.”
At dusk, when they beached along the shore to make camp for the night, Kveld, Tryggvi, and Hálfdan set up Brynhildr’s tent. The Nightwolf carved runes into the leaf-strewn ground all around it, chanting protective wards softly under his breath.
Gunnar glowered with lust-fueled rage and barely restrained fury. “She is mine by right of the sword,” he grunted, scowling as his crew pitched the royal tent behind him.
“No one enters without her will.” Kveld settled onto a stone before the oiled linen walls of her tent. The snarling black beastatop the Nightwolf’s dark head was as much a deterrent as the runes, which glimmered faintly withseiðrin the etched loam.
Later that night, when Gunnar, Högni, and the men from the twosnekkjawere snoring around the fire, Kveld nodded to the crew ofÚlfalkr,who quickly loaded bedrolls and supplies onto the ship.
The Nightwolf helped Brynhildr settle beneath the mast, while Tryggvi and Hálfdan carried a sleeping Sigurd onto the deck and laid him on blankets at her side. “At the monastery, we’ll carry him to the sacred spring and lower Sigurd into the waterfall pool for you to bathe him. The cold water will revive him enough that you can make him drink—and the curative waters will wash away the sleep. When you bring him into the cottage and make love in the moonlight, theouroboroswill burn away the witch’s wretched curse.”
Brynhildr touched the side of Kveld’s scarred, inked face. The deep blue runes and black braided beard glistened in the starlight. As tears welled in her eyes, she leaned forward and kissed his bristled cheek. “The Norns themselves wove you into our fate. You are bound to us both as surely as a bloodswornbroðir.”
He raised her hand to his bearded lips and placed a reverent kiss upon her fingers. “I shall carry the Sea Wolf and the Sun Falcon to safety across the sea. I swear my life, my sword, and myseiðrto protect your child — the Dragonslayer’sdóttir, who shall rise as a warrior queen.”
The skilled crew of Sigurd’s new Sea Wolves, recruited and trained by Hródvarr Ironfang, guidedÚlfalkrthrough a sinuous tributary of the Rhône, threading the dark waters through the narrow valley until the monastery lay within walking distance.
Kveld, Tryggvi, and Hálfdan carried Sigurd ashore, while Brynhildr followed at their side. The crew remained on the ship, hidden in the river’s shadows.
“Wait here while I knock on Brother Pierre’s door.” Kveld slipped down the cobbled stone path and disappeared around the back of the monastery. A few moments later, he reappeared with the familiar monk who had once been a Norse warrior. The bald top of his shorn blond head glistened in the moonlight.
“You are welcome to the same stone cottages where you sought shelter before.” He glanced at Sigurd, slumped on the grass between Tryggvi and Hálfdan. Motioning with a nod for Brynhildr and Kveld to follow, he led them toward the cottages. Unlocking the door to Bynhildr’s cottage with a key at his waist, he fetched a bar ofedelweisssoap and fresh linens from inside, placing them in her shaking hands. “Bathe the injured Sea Wolf in the sacred spring. It will cure him, as it healed you.” He smiled, the enormous wolf inked on his thick neck gleaming in the starlight. “Rest here tonight. Since you wish your visit unannounced, I shall bring you bread, cheese, and smoked fish when I rise at first light, before the brothers gather for matins. The river mists are thick at dawn. You may depart unseen.” He then unlocked the door to the other cottage, which Tryggvi, Hálfdan, and Kveld would share. “I bid you good night. Until dawn.” Inclining his head, Brother Pierre crossed the wildflower-strewn meadow and disappeared into the shadowed cloister.
Amidst the gentle rush of the waterfall trickling down the mountain and splashing into the shimmering pool, owls hooted from the dense forest which sheltered the stone cottages. The sweet floral scent of wildflowers mingled with the misty spray of the sacred spring.
Brynhildr shed her cloak, belt, and boots, while Kveld helped the two brawnyhúskarlarlay Sigurd on the grass beside the glimmering pool.
Kveld removed the Völsung crown, the sheathed swordGramr,and theBlárúlfrcloak, while Tryggvi and Hálfdanunfasted the goldenbrynjaand stripped Sigurd of his boots, tunic, and breeches. Together, they lowered him into the chilly water, and Sigurd opened his bewildered eyes. When they fixed on Brynhildr, he frowned, as if trying to remember her face.
“We are at the monastery with the sacred spring,” she whispered, coaxing him to sip from her cupped hand. “The healing waters will cure you. Drink.”
While he complied, she looked up at the Nightwolf and Sigurd’s two trusted guards. “I shall bathe him now. I plan to get into the pool with him. Thank you for bringing us here.”
“We’ll carry Sigurd’s armor andBlárúlfrinto your cottage,” Kveld said, as Tryggvi and Hálfdan gathered the crown,brnyja,sword, and cloak in their arms. “If you need me, just knock. I shall not sleep until you are both safe inside.”
The Nightwolf’s amber eyes glowed golden as he held Sigurd’s confused gaze. “You once brought Brynhildr here to cure her. And now, it is her turn to heal you.” He gestured to the grassy meadow strewn with whiteedelweissblossoms, the sparkling waterfall pool, and the starlit night sky. “Here, beside the sacredLindsviðrspring, you and she were wed in moonlight.” He inclined his black wolfskin-clad head and bowed slightly at the waist. “May the sacred spring where you were wed reawaken your love. And may thedragonfireof theouroboroswhich binds your souls burn away all traces of themalva’scurse.” Kveld smiled softly at them both and backed away from the pool.
When Tryggvi and Hálfdan emerged from Brynhildr’s cottage, where they had stored Sigurd’s belongings, the Nightwolf followed them into their shared dwelling, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.
While Sigurd drank deeply from the curative waters of the sacred spring, Brynhildr removed her dark green gown and linenchemise, laying them atop her cloak. She unbraided her hair and slipped into the cool water beside him.
“I wish to bathe you,” she said softly.
He looked at her with lovelight shining in his brilliant blue eyes. “Brynhildr,” he whispered, raising her hand to his blond bearded lips. “My Sun Falcon, my Valkyrie…my wife.” Sigurd pulled her into his arms, cradled her on his broad chest, and claimed her lips with his own.
Brynhildr’s spirit soared like Himingdrápa’s white wings as theouroborosblazed above her fierce falcon heart.
Chapter 28
Dragonfire
Brynhildr unbraided Sigurd’s blond hair and beard, placing the lapis lazuli beads on the stone ledge of the waterfall pool. She laid him back in her arms and gently poured spring water over his head with her cupped palm. When his hair was soaked, she sat him up beside her and lathered his locks withedelweisssoap, working long fingers into his scalp and eliciting moans from the back of his throat. She laid him down to rinse out the suds, then thoroughly washed every inch of his beloved body.
