Page 75 of The Ashborn

The earth shook under his feet. His hand lit with a soft bronze glow until the rocks jolted from around the peak. Like natural stairs, Broan climbed them step by step, each one disappearing after he left it. If the clouds were made of stone, it would have felt like this.

At the top, Lief’s mouth gaped open. “Gods, that was something!”

Ingrid didn’t look nearly as impressed. She flipped the mahogany braid off her shoulder. “Yer face always light up like that? You look cursed.”

Broan’s hand went to the red sigil on his temple, like a lightning bolt through his hair. He shrugged. She only scowled because she’d never understand what it felt like to be on top of the fucking earth and commanding it as her own. He turned to Lief. “What else do you want to see?”

Lief’s eyes lit up, the white snowflakes reflecting in pools of deep brown. “What else can you do?”

What else could he do? The question almost made Broan boast to the world. He ground his feet into the mountain and coaxed the peak higher. They went into the clouds, Lief and Ingrid holding onto each other to keep their balance. The wind slapped Broan’s face, an exhilarating rush to his cheeks. He smirked, cocking one brow. He enjoyed seeing them squirm under what he could do.

When the mountain stilled, Lief bellowed a laugh into the open air. Icy clouds curled around them, parting to reveal a break in the heavens. Above, the night stretched wide and black, scattered with a thousand sharp points of light. The stars shimmered like shards of glass cast across a dark sea.

“Bring us down!” Ingrid snapped, pushing away from Lief and stepping toward Broan. Her hand reached for a knife tucked into her belt.

Broan shrugged. “If you say so.” He curled stone over their feet to keep them in place and then let the mountain go. It quickly dropped to its original height, shaking the surrounding peaks. Ingrid and Lief nearly fell over, leaning forward to ground themselves in the snow. When the mountain settled, Broan peeled the stone from their boots.

Lief fell into the snow and loosened a deep breath from his chest. “I hated every moment of it, and it was the best damn thing I’ve seen.”

Broan chuckled as he sat next to him. “You’re different from what I thought.”

Lief sat up. “You’re exactly how I imagined. Right down to the madness.”

Ingrid spat on the ground, kicking at the snow. She resolved to sit apart from them, her brows tethered tightly together. She fixed the bones woven in her hair and looked below the peak. “Yer magic won’t impress any of them.”

“I don’t need to impress them,” Broan said.

“You should. Yer the heir to the hearthseat.”

Broan drew back, eyes narrowing as the weight of it hit him. He certainly wasn’t pushing for the jarl’s position. He barely understood anything about Viking culture, yet his magic ached in his bones, begging for Broan to wield the very rocks that built it. He shook his head. “I only have one goal.”

Ingrid’s scowl deepened. “To fuck yer Elvish friend?”

Broan laughed, a deep, hearty laugh burning in his belly. “Hasn’t crossed my mind, actually. No.” He sobered quickly. “To stop the King of River Storm.”

Silence enveloped them. Ingrid lived during the Great War. According to Kaelthar, she was on the ship that burned. She would have been six, plenty of time to remember the tragedy that came across the entire realm when Vaerin tore it down for four children. Though her lips remained tight, her eyes lowered. They sat in their thoughts for a while, the chill of the wind whistling with the snow. Broan’s beard frosted over. He turned his attention to the dimly lit city in the heart of the Whiteridge Mountains. They’d never be safe on their own. Tristian was right. They’d need the Elvish blade. If the rest of the clan reacted anywhere near the way Ingrid did—with raw fear—at the hint of magic, they’d never stand up to the king’s army.

“Ingrid,” Broan sighed. He wouldn’t bother giving her a name. She’d spit it in his face. “This Elvish alliance⁠—”

“Fuck yer alliance.”

“Yeah, okay, then fuck the Viking clan.” Broan kept his tone even. This was not the time for emotion. “You don’t know what’s coming.”

Ingrid slapped at the snow, white dust floating away with the wind. “We’ve done fine without the pointy-eared bastards. Don’t see why we’d start needin’ them now.”

“Except there’s a madman who owns a kingdom and an entire army of dead creatures with power that could wipe the Elvish out.”

“Good.” Ingrid crossed her arms, a smirk playing on her face.

Lief straightened. “Maybe we should give this some thought, Grid.”

“Our father’s not one to bend. If he’s still breathin’, he’s said no. The Warband’s mine, and I say the same.”

Like father, like daughter. Whatever the Elvish did in their past, the Vikings would not loosen to them easily. Tristain wanted him to clarify the alliance. He had to think back. What was it about a sword? He drank too much ale between his conversation with the High Commander and now. He slid his head back, staring into the swirling clouds above him. “They don’t want your army.”

“Aye, they do. Always lookin’ after their own skins.” Ingrid stood from the frost and dusted herself off.

Broan stood, too, and leveled up to her. He’d have to do this in the least respectful way possible. He figured that was what she demanded. “You can keep your fucking army hidden in the mountains. It makes no fucking difference to them. When I say they don’t care for your armies, I mean it.” He glanced at Lief, now standing closer to his sister. A bravery he appreciated. “They want to give you their armies.”