In the valley below stood the Konungr, radiating barely contained fury. The icy glow in his eyes flared—not entirely human. Silver braids framed his face, the hair growing and twisting as his sinew tore and rebuilt anew.
Massive paws thudded into the earth, claws pawing at the ground beneath an enormous white wolf.
Beside him stood Njáll, his axe swinging in decisive slashes.
Rocks dug into her knees as Elara crashed to the ground, cold hands covering her mouth.
Bloated, desiccated forms clawed their way through the mist, their limbs impossibly long, their leathery hands grasping for Njáll’s throat.
A silent scream died in her chest, tears leaking from her eyes.
The draugar moved with a lumbering, relentless horror. Njáll stumbled, the Konungr’s maw snapping through the undead.
A towering skeletal shadow reached past Njáll, its long, chain-wrapped hand extending toward a small, shimmering gold beacon.
Nails clawed at her throat, dragging in wheezing breaths.
It was too clear. Too real.
Damp dirt slid along her palms, the last sliver of consciousness shattering as the world went black.
Elara woke to the smell of warm oil, clean wool, and simmering rose water. The faint scent of juniper clung to the luxurious furs bunched around her hips.
Slowly, her eyes blinked open, her fingers trailing over her thin shift.
A throb pulsed behind her temple.
Beside her sat a woman, gently stroking the skin of Elara’s forearm.
Njáll’s mother offered Elara a comforting smile.
Chestnut curls laced with silver framed her freckled face. Her soft hazelnut eyes sparkled like a freshly kindled fire. Elara tried to move when Brielle shook her head, a strong hand urging her to lie back down.
“Hush,” she whispered, passing Elara a skin of water. “Rest. You are home.”
“What happened?” Elara asked, washing away the feeling of batted cotton in her mouth.
“My daughter saw you crumble by the longhouse and sent for me. We brought you here. It appeared your body needed time to recover.”
Nodding, Elara stared at the fire, letting the calm flicker soothe her. But what she really wanted was Njáll. And he hadn’t yet returned.
Before, her visions had been mere shadows. The unnerving clarity of the last one terrified her. Fox fur slid under her fingers as she tugged the furs higher, remembering Hlif’s words.
Nothing was certain. A change in the wind could change her visions.
Just because she saw, didn’t mean it would come to pass.
Brielle smiled, smoothing the furs across Elara’s hips, handing her a steaming cup.
Elara sipped the bitter liquid, her face scrunching as it coated her insides.
The women sat in comfortable silence, sharing a meal as Elara felt more like herself. Brielle hummed, content to coexist, sewing linen into bandages.
Eventually, her soft voice broke through the silence.
“You honor my son. Thank you for choosing him. You are good for him. The kind of wife he will need to rule.”
Wife.
