Page 28 of On Broken Bonds

Fenric

“Today we meet our teams,” the court squire says, reading from his scroll as we enter the throne room.

The wealthy nobles and citizens have already filled the viewing galleries above, their bright silks spilling over the rails as they lean down to watch us. Their attention presses against my skin like heat, making me feel small in a way I haven’t since leaving home.

Their perfumes clog the air. Sweet oils and heavy florals layered over citrus and spice, all of it so thick it nearly turns my stomach. The knights standing nearby don’t seem to notice. To my left, a cluster of vampires wrinkle their noses, and the shifters look equally displeased.

At least the stench of the rich bothers me less than the thought of why I’m here.

With quiet direction from the house staff, we line up on the far side of the throne platform and wait. Osric shifts beside me, his huge frame radiating warmth. He smells of iron and old leather.

Under different circumstances, standing shoulder to shoulder with him would’ve put me on edge.

Back home, Osric was the blacksmith everyone respected and quietly feared. No one questioned his skill, nor the brutal strength that made him one of the most physically imposing men in the village. But there were stories too. Men beaten bloody for looking at him the wrong way. Tavern disputes that ended with shattered furniture and broken bones. More unsettling still were the whispered rumors of those who had angered him too deeply simply vanishing, leaving behind only uneasy speculation and families too frightened to ask questions.

I’d heard enough over the years that I'd once warned my younger sister to steer clear of him entirely. He was not the sort of man any decent woman would willingly tie herself to. Too volatile. Too dangerous. The kind of man who answered insults with violence and seemed to carry fury beneath the surface of his skin.

And under any other circumstance, I would have wanted nothing to do with him.

But then my family was taken.

Now every instinct that once told me to keep my distance has become a luxury I can no longer afford. Osric may be brutal, unpredictable, and morally at odds with nearly everything I believe, but he is also strong enough to help me survive these trials.

And whether I like it or not, survival is the only thing that matters. At least, if I ever want to see my family again.

My hands clench into fists and the scent of coppery blood fills my nose once more. I still remember returning home to find the yard churned to mud by wagon wheels and bootprints, and the front door hanging crooked from its hinges. Unease had gripped me instantly, sharp and cold, but it was the silence that truly unsettled me.

Our home was never quiet. Someone was always laughing, arguing, or calling for help with one chore or another. That day, there had been nothing. Just silence and the scent of blood.

Then the townsfolk began to emerge one by one, their faces pale and stricken as they told me what had happened. The slavers had come while I was gone. My father had fought until they beat him half senseless. My mother had clawed and screamed. My sisters had cried for me, calling my name while they were dragged toward the wagons.

They had expected me to come charging over the hill, bow in hand, ready to stop it. But I hadn’t been there.

By the time I returned, the wagons were already gone. The slaves were gone. My family was gone. Yet another family of berserkers taken.

The helplessness I felt that day still claws at me. The knowledge that if I’d been home, I would have fought until my body gave out. I would’ve died before I let them take us.

Instead, I was spared the choice entirely, left standing in the wreckage of our home while the people I loved most were hauled away in chains.

They are out there somewhere, still enslaved, still waiting. And whether they know it or not, I am all they have left.

I came to this city for one reason. I came to kneel before the gods and beg. To ask them to free my family. To end what’s been done to the berserkers for generations. I’d spent the entire journey rehearsing the words, convincing myself that if I spoke clearly enough, if I made them understand, they would help.

Instead, they laughed.

They’d dismissed me as though the suffering of my family meant nothing at all.

I remember stumbling from the throne room feeling hollowed out, my hope stripped raw. I had only a few coins left and nowhere to go, so I’d ended up in the nearest tavern, trying to decide what a man does when even the gods refuse him.

That was where I found Osric. Or rather, where he found me. He’d dropped into the seat across from mine, looked me dead in the eye, and asked if I planned to enter the trials.

At the time, it had sounded absurd.

Now, standing here, waiting to learn my fate, it feels like the only choice I ever had.

Begging the gods had failed. Pleading for mercy had accomplished nothing. If I wanted my family back, if I wanted enough coin and influence to find them and buy their freedom, then I would have to earn it myself.

The trials were dangerous. Brutal. Likely fatal.