Page 125 of The Ashborn

“She rides into battle with her warriors when time allows, does she not? She was there, in Dalelry.” Alister’s lips tightened. He peered at the Vikings through beady, black eyes.

Hardly, Kienna said to Connak, though not expecting a response. The wards he mentioned felt strong, though he faltered and shifted again at the sound of her voice. I don’t think she rode into the city with us. She was only there, in the tents.

Ruva’s presence tickled her mind in a response, but she refused to answer. She was close enough, yet it appeared she wanted Kienna to go through this on her own.

“He wants me to renounce the throne,” Elira said, the edge of a knife covering her tone. Her fingers pushed into her palms. “Or name an heir.”

“Sounds like it,” Lief affirmed.

These people were better at riddles than Kienna. When Ingrid said Elira needed to stand with her people, she wouldn’t have deduced it meant naming an heir. She almost snorted at the thought. Seredai scoffed as Alister broke into a snide laugh.

“The Belok family has ruled the Elvish realm for hundreds of years.” Seredai was out of her seat, lecturing the Vikings on Elvish history.

Try not to panic, Connak whispered in Kienna’s mind.

She turned to face him, his lake of green staring at the Vikings. Why would I panic?

“So, they will force my hand for the aid of keeping my people safe?” Elira scolded.

Ingrid moved toward the queen. “Keep your people safe? You are the keeper of the magic, are you not?”

An uproar in the council room broke out, Vikings yelling accusations at the Elvish for hoarding the one thing keeping the realm alive. The Elvish women pointed fingers at the brutes for never making an effort. Alister stood behind everyone watching, as he always did. The room grew so loud between them that Kienna couldn’t hear Connak’s voice in her mind. Seredai leaned over and whispered into Elira’s ear.

“I’ve heard enough!” Elira silenced the room, a gust of air pushing through the entrance of the tree. The Vikings reached for their weapons, unsheathing them while their eyes darted around. “I will name an heir.”

“The jarl will want to know who,” Ingrid said.

“He will have to grant me enough time to consult⁠—”

“No,” Ingrid interrupted, fixating back on Kienna. She startled at the attention. “There is only one heir left in your bloodline.”

Elira’s face grew paler than the iciest moonlit night. Kienna caught a gasp threatening her throat as she backed away from the light. This whole thing was reckless. Did Elira not think through this before agreeing to their demands? Connak’s presence remained strong behind her.

Danek’s hand reached for her, pulling her forward. “I’ve got you,” he whispered.

Don’t falter in front of the Vikings, Connak warned. I know this isn’t what you want, but it’s coming, and they don’t take well to weakness.

Broan nodded, lifting his axe and pushing the hilt back into the ground as confirmation. “It needs to be Kienna.”

“Why?” Elira demanded.

“Because,” Broan shrugged, pointing to the final Viking. The older man had as many white hairs in his beard as he had in years. He was the one Ingrid referred to as Skald Eirik. “This old bastard says so.”

“Blood doesn’t always mean loyalty,” Alister muttered at Elira’s side, loud enough for Kienna to catch. It was masked as counsel, but the words cut deeper than doubt.

“Well, go on, Skald.” Ingrid pushed against the old man until he came into view. “Speak your lore and be done with it.”

The Lorekeeper moved with the slowness of age but none of the weakness. He smelled of old ink, the way an ancient book would smell after years in the dust. His voice, when it came, was low and rough. “Kienna,” he said, the words curling like smoke.

Danek pushed her to stand in front of the Viking clan. She moved slowly. Wearily. She kept her head high as Connak urged.

“Ashborn. They whispered of you long before your first breath. The prophecy remembers you,” Skald said.

“What could you possibly know of it?” Kienna stumbled.

“When the Ashborn child walks between worlds and bears fire’s end, peace shall bare her crown.” He started to step back, then stopped. Quietly, his white eye swirled. He squinted at Connak, then at Tristian, a dawn of recognition. “Strange,” Skald muttered, thumb dragging through his beard, eyes unfocused, as if listening past the room. “There are verses the song won’t give me.” He shifted uneasily. “Not yet.” He dared a glance back at Tristian.

Kienna turned to see what he could be measuring, but there was nothing there but a hollow man.