Page 45

Freya, Oksana, and I fell in on either side of Declan when he scooped up Astrid and followed King Magnus, who barked out more orders to his men as we made our way into the castle. “Fetch the healer and order her to my wife’s chambers. Hers is the warmest.” And to another. “See food and drink served in the great hall for all in need of nourishment.” He glanced over his shoulder at Knud. “You see that everyone gets along, lest the ale make enemies of tepid allies.”

“No,” Astrid wailed, undoubtedly surprising King Alexander once again when she cried, “Knud Thorgard stays with us.”

I had no idea what to make of that, given she and Knud had never been particularly close growing up. Even so, I was grateful when King Magnus ordered several of his men to take up that task instead and allowed Knud to remain with us.

“I will stand guard outside her door,” Knud assured me after Declan carried Astrid into a sizeable chamber and laid her on the fur-clad bed. He squeezed my hand and looked at me with strength and reassurance. “’Twill be all right, love. Astrid is a fierce shield-maiden, and this but one more battle she will win.”

I blinked back tears and rallied myself, handing him my shield and blade, then headed inside. Soon after, a host of servants arrived with pots of heated water, towels, and other medicinal things while Oksana sat nearby keeping a close eye on her mistress. Thunder boomed, lightning flashed, and wind howled as I held one of Astrid’s hands, Declan the other, and Freya tended to our sister the best she could. While not as talented a healer as Astrid, she knew her way around sick beds better than most.

“I willnae leave my wife’s side,” Declan made clear when a middle-aged light-haired woman with flecks of gray at her temples strode in, looking every inch a Norse healer with talismans woven into her intricately braided hair.

“Nor would I expect you to,” she replied, without doubt surprising him, given the cross hanging around his neck and the way Christians did things, versus those who still worshiped the old gods. Her steady dark blue eyes locked with Declan’s. “You are here to bring her strength whilst she wages battle, warrior.”

He did, too, impressing me with how supportive he was of Astrid. He continued to hold her hand, offering her rallying words, making it clear he would hunt her down and bring her back to Midgard if she thought of going to Odin too soon.

And he would do it with his Christian god’s backing, too.

They had admittedly found deep love and respect for one another despite their vastly different religions. Yet I saw the cross resting beside Astrid’s talisman, so I suspected she was as diplomatic on that front as she was on any other.

The fire flared on the hearth, and the storm continued raging outside. Claiming Astrid would find the cool wind soothing, the healer insisted the furs be pulled aside on the windows, and I agreed. Astrid was soaked in sweat and bleeding when she shouldn’t be.

The more she wailed in pain, the more my and Freya’s fear grew.

Yet all the while, the healer remained focused on Astrid, massaging her swollen belly, her voice calm and even. She ordered my sister to push every so often. Push past the pain. Past it all.

“Push past the pain to welcome the warrior,” Astrid ground out on a whisper, her eyes going different at the worst possible moment. Freya and I met each other’s eyes grimly, knowing now was the time for Astrid to keep her wits about her, not lose herself to her inner seer.

“Push past the pain,” Astrid whispered and fell back against the pillow where moments before she had writhed in pain. “Push past the pain and welcome change…welcome a new beginning.”

“Fight,” the healer insisted, frowning at Astrid. “Now, you must push. You must fight!”

Frighteningly enough, it seemed like all the fight had fled from Astrid, and she grew weak despite us rallying her on. When a heavy rap came at the door, a servant answered, shaking her head at whomever had knocked before she finally appeared to relent. She returned to the bed with Knud’s dagger.

She handed it to me and spoke softly in my ear. “Your husband claims ’tis warming and that he feels ’tis time for your sister to fight…” She hesitated, as if debating whether to go on before continuing. “That ’tis quite dire Freya take the blade lest her Wyrd not unfold as it should.”

“Aye,” Declan murmured, eyeing the dagger, seeming to understand more about it than I realized. “’Twas as she dreamed.” His gaze lingered on the blade before his eyes rose to mine. “She claimed a great battle lay on the horizon. One king would rise. Two kings would fall. One who fell would stand in battle alongside Norse and Scots alike, helping to bring peace…and life.” He shook his head. “Yet ’twould take not just a great man but a great blade. One born of the gods…of mysticism itself.”

While it could be tricky deciphering half the riddles born of our magic, my instinct told me to wrap Astrid’s hand around the hilt of the blade, and so I did. Although she appeared to be passed out, miraculously enough, that stirred her awake. When she gripped the hilt and her eyes shot open, the fire flared so brightly on the hearth again that the hilt’s runes glowed, and we knew the gods were with us indeed.

As if revived, Astrid buckled forward and released the blade, yet this time, she didn’t wail in pain. Instead, the look in her pale blue eyes had turned fierce. Unrelenting. It was the very look she wore when going into battle. While she still felt pain, she no longer cried out and railed against it but accepted it and pushed as the healer had ordered, fighting for all she was worth.

Soon after, thunder boomed across the heavens, and a mighty roar filled the chamber as Astrid gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Though the healer warned extra towels would be needed, expecting Astrid to continue bleeding and mayhap even lose her life because of it, no such thing happened. Instead, her bleeding stopped as soon as the healer swaddled the babe and placed him in Astrid’s loving arms, and his crying quieted.

Blinking back tears at the sight of our little nephew, Freya and I gave her and Declan these precious moments alone to greet their new son. Assuring her we would return later, we joined Knud in the hallway, only to find him pacing, of all things.

He stopped when we closed the door behind us and looked back and forth between us expectantly. “Is she well? Is the child well? I heard a roar like the polar bear’s, and perhaps a wolf’s howl joining Astrid’s cry as she birthed her babe. And then, I heard the baby…”

“Ja.” I wiped away a tear. “Astrid and her son are very well, and I don’t doubt ’tis because of you seeing that blade into her hand, husband.”

I couldn’t help but laugh when he embraced me and gave me a little unexpected spin, making Freya laugh as well, because it was so unlike him. He didn’t deal with displays of joy any more than I made a habit of showing my emotions, but this moment clearly called for it, telling me how much he longed for a family of his own.

Before we had a chance to head downstairs and share the good news, a servant requested that we linger. Astrid and Declan wanted us to rejoin them sooner rather than later.

All three of us, at that.

“Of course,” I assured, sharing what had happened with Knud after the servant left.

“’Tis good,” he said, relieved. “I wasn’t sure what to make of the blade warming, only that it needed to be with you and your sisters, not me.” He belted it at his side again as he murmured a prayer to Odin, almost echoing Astrid’s words in the throes of labor. “He will be a strong boy born of Scots and Vikings alike.”