Page 47 of Soul of Fire

They do not care, I reminded him.

“Close the Rift?” One of the southern jarls shouted out loud, his voice edged with hearty amusement. “Has the ice driven you to madness, boy? No one can close the Rift.”

“It’s been eons since that land was anything more than ice and rock,” another agreed. “If the skalds in the royal library have not found an answer in two millennia, how do you propose to find one within two years?”

“Because your human skalds do not know what I do!” I hadn’t meant to shout, but my patience had reached its end. The room went deadly still, and I realized that Baldur shone out through my eyes, his anger building with mine.

I was so fucking tired of old men making decisions based on nothing but their own greed.

All but Arne took several steps away from me, and my father gave me a curious, wary look, his eyes gleaming with some emotion I couldn’t parse.

Over his shoulder, Edvard stared in surprise, something dark flitting within his gaze as he looked between me and the king.

“Leave us,” my father barked, his eyes intent on mine as the other jarls stood in silence and watched our exchange with wary looks.

When no one moved, my father’s temper broke. “I said leave us!”

“But, Sire.” The jarl who spoke was one of the midlands chieftains. “We have not voted on the matter of—“

“Out. Now.”

To an outsider, his tone would have seemed mild, but the jarls obeyed, practically tripping over themselves in their rush to get out the door. They almost crushed the wizened skald, who was caught around his scrawny shoulders by Arne before he could be flattened by the fleeing jarls.

Arne shot me a knowing look as he escorted the skald from the room, shutting the door behind us. Only my brother, my father, and I remained in the room, which was filled with a silence so loud I could hear it throbbing in my ears in time with my blood.

“You too.” My father’s voice was ice as he looked at Edvard. “Out.”

Edvard blinked in surprise and took a step toward our father. “Don’t you think—“

“I am tired of being told what to think by lesser men,” my father growled. “Out!”

Edvard’s face paled, his eyes darkening with hatred. He bowed, somehow managing to make it look insolent. “As you command,Sire.”

He cast me a look of warning before striding from the room.

“Sit.” My father slumped into his chair and poured a deep goblet of wine. “Drink.”

I did not sit. “What?”

“You need a drink,” he repeated, pushing the goblet toward me as he filled another. “I hear from the servants that your woman has her blood? You should keep your distance until it passes. Women are irrational during their bleed.”

“I will not be taking advice about how to treat my mate from you.” I ignored the goblet, trying to stifle my building fury and indignation. My heart still thumped a furious rhythm, and Baldur’s grumbled agreement wasn’t helping my temper.

It would be very fast. He wouldn’t even have time to scream.

No.I took a breath, trying to calm my pulse, and had a sip of the wine to steady myself.

My father sighed, looking older than I had ever seen him as he contemplated the red liquid in his cup. “It is a good omen that she bleeds so close to your handfasting. A blessing from the Hearthmother.”

“I…what?” I stared at my father, certain I had misheard.

“Sit, Arik.” He waved to the open chair across from him, sighing deeply into his cup. “It is time we had a reckoning, you and I. But first, tell me about your plan to close the Rift.”

I remained standing as I tried to think of a way to deflect. I had no intention of telling my father what I believed Eisa and Idunn could do, but coming up with a clever lie was beyond me. “I asked you first.”

My father chuckled and drained his cup, then refilled it before pinning me with an appraising stare. “You were always more likeme than Edvard, you know. It’s why I sent you to Ironholm instead of him.”

I struggled to maintain my indifferent mask, appalled that my father thought me anything like him. “I don’t understand.”