Sigurd leapt from the bed and stepped into his breeches, tying them in haste and following her out the cottage door.
Black wolfskin cloak gleaming in the moonlight, Kveld emerged from the adjacent cottage. His amber eyes glowed with the golden light ofseiðr.
From the droplets of sparkling mist, a female figure emerged, radiant as the sun. Freyja’s form glimmered like starlight, her long tresses flowing like molten gold, her eyes deep amber like honeyed mead. She floated just above the surface of the bubbling pool, wrapped in a halo of moonlight.
Above Brynhildr’s pounding heart, theouroborospulsed with searingseiðr.
As Sigurd squeezed her hand, and Kveld joined them beside the spring, the ethereal radiant light assumed human form.
Golden tresses cascading to her slim waist, amber eyes sparkling like otherworldly gems, Freyja’s falcon feather cloak fluttered over her amethyst velvet gown. A radiant smile lit herephemeral face as she beheld Brynhildr. “My beloveddóttir,” Freyja crooned, gliding across the edelweiss-strewn meadow to grasp her cold hands. “The surge ofseiðrfrom theouroboroshas summoned me. I must speak to you of the Dwarven curse which binds your fate and your babe.
Freyja brushed a glimmering finger over Brynhildr’s dragon coil wedding band. “This is theAndvaranautring, once the treasure of the dwarf Andvari. It was precious to him, for it produced new gold every ninth night. When Lóki stole it, Andvari cursed the ring and its gold, so that death and doom would follow all it touched—until nine lives had been claimed.” Anguish glimmered in Freyja’s amber gaze. “Three deaths have been paid thus far: Hreiðmarr, a Dwarven king, and his two sons, Regin and Fáfnir—whose greed transformed him into the emerald dragon you slew atGnítaheiðr,”she said to Sigurd. “Six more deaths are yet owed before the curse of theouroboroscloses.”
Freyja released her hand and tenderly brushed a lock of hair from Brynhildr’s face. “I cannot alter the Dwarven curse until the nine deaths have been claimed. But once that fateful debt is paid, the coil of theouroboroscloses, as the dragon swallows its tail. And the eternal return of life and love—themark of the dragonwhich binds your two souls—shall transform the curse of death and doom into powerful wards of protection, defending theDragonslayer’s Daughter with theseidrflames ofdragonfire.”
Sigurd took hold of Brynhildr’s left hand. The emerald eyes of the dragon in the wedding band on her finger glowed beneath their joined touch. “Gunnar, Högni, and Gjúki will come, seeking revenge,” he whispered, raising her hand to his lips. Resolve and rage blazed in his fierce lupine gaze. “We will sail to Norway, wed at Hrafnfjall, and gather allies. The Burgundians’ vengeance will face the might of our united kingdoms.”
“When your enemies set sail, I shall send Gyllin fromFólkvangrto alert you.” Freyja smiled warmly at Sigurd. “With the gift bestowed by the dragon’s blood, you will once again understand her message.” The Goddess ofSeiðrturned to Kveld Nightwolf, whose amber eyes glowed with the same otherworldly light as her own. “When the time comes, you must take the child and thevölvaYrsa to safety. Meet Heimir in the village where the eastern and western seas converge in the Land of the Midnight Sun.”
When Kveld inclined his wolf-cloaked head, Freyja kissed Brynhildr’s cheek in fond farewell. “I shall watch your royal wedding fromFólkvangr, through the Mirrored Sea,”she whispered, her human form dissolving into golden divine light. “Remember this,dóttir min… you and your beloved Sea Wolf shall be forever entwined… beyond the web ofwyrdand the reach of the gods.” With a whoosh of wind, she was gone.
In the morning, as the first pale light spread across the alpine meadow and the sacredLindsviðrspring, Brother Pierre knocked softly upon their wooden door. “For your journey,” he said quietly, placing a basket of barley bread, goat cheese, and smoked salmon into Sigurd’s hands. “May Saint Bernard guide your path.”
After thanking the generous monk, they rejoined the crew ofÚlfalkr.As the morning mist rose from the river, Brynhildr gazed at the triplebindruneKveld had carved into the oaken deck. The Nightwolf’s prophecy floated into her mind from the summer past. “Úlfalkrshall bear the Sea Wolf and the Sun Falcon to safety across the sea.”
Turning the falcon prow from the coast of eastern Francia, Sigurd sailedÚlfalkracross the North Sea toward Norway.
Chapter 29
Royal Wedding at Hrafjnfjall
Brynhildr stared out the wide open double doors of her balcony. The golden light of the summer sun gilded the glimmering fjord, dozens of longships lining the pebbled beach below her private tower. She smiled, remembering the Solhjarta Tournament of the previous summer solstice when she had first met Sigurd.
Today, she would formally wed her Sea Wolf in the royal wedding at Hrafnfjall.
The rich scent of two oxen roasting in deep pits and three boars skewered on spits over open flames filled the salty air with the tantalizing aroma of savory meat. Thegoðiwho would perform the wedding had sacrificed the animals last night, collecting and saving the sacred blood for today’s ceremony and the ritual offering to the gods.
Clad in the same blue silk gown that she had worn for the moonlit wedding beside the sacredLindsviðrspring, Brynhildr now sat at her bedside table, watching waves ripple the surface of the sunlit fjord, while Astrid and Inga braided emeralds and lapis lazuli gems into her long blonde hair.
Yrsa’s deep blue face was painted with woad and inscribed with black runes, hervölvacloak embellished with bones, feathers, beads, and charms. She held the elaborately decoratedkransen—the silver crown adorned with emeralds that Brynhildr would soon wear as her bridal headpiece—wovenwith ivy and wild roses taken from the vine-covered wall of her private courtyard.
Where she and Sigurd had once sworn their blood oath, sealed inseiðrand starlight.
The wedding band Kveld had crafted for Sigurd was tied with blue silk ribbon to the hilt ofSólfalkr,the falcon sword her goddessmóðirFreyja had bestowed for the Summer Solstice Tournament. The three intricate images of wolf, falcon, and dragon glimmered between the trio of gems set into the golden band. Inside the wedding ring, the same trinity of runes that the Nightwolf had carved into the hull ofÚlfalkr—and onto the shore beneath the private tower were she now sat—pulsed with the rhythm of her pounding heart and themark of the dragonwhich seared the skin above her left breast.
Nearby, in Kveld’s private chambers of herfaðir’sfortress, Sigurd was preparing for the late afternoon ceremony which would soon begin. Brynhildr had given him herouroboroswedding band, to be tied to the hilt of his sword.
Just as Budli would holdSólfalkrfor Brynhildr during the wedding ceremony,,King Álfr would bear the ancestral bladeGramrfor Sigurd to offer her in the ritual exchange of swords.
Soft notes of lyres and lutes, the melodic trill of flutes, and the steady thrum of drums drifted through the open tower doors. Brynhildr’s heart quickened, for the music meant that thegoðiwas ready in the courtyard.
Four of herfaðir’sarmoredhúskarlarappeared in the doorway. “The ceremony is about to begin,” Geirr announced with a reverent bow. “We have come to escort you to the wedding.”
After Yrsa placed the wild rose and ivykransenatop her intricately braided hair, Brynhildr descended the stairs of her tower, flanked by a pair of royal guards.
Clutching her gnarled ashwood staff, the amber gem glowing golden in its filigree tip, the blue-facedvölvafollowed Brynhildr, between the otherhúskarlar,with Ingrid and Astrid close behind.
The courtyard shimmered with lit torches. The crisp resinous scent of juniper mingled with the exotic spice of myrrh and the floral fragrance of wildflowers. Garlands of ivy and wild roses decorated the walls, and the deep blue fjord glistened in the summer sun.
