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Rises a beastly reign to torment you.
Live for death and gore,
Lust for blood forevermore.
No thought for name or past,
Till she lights the dark at last.
Royal of beauty, passion, and love.
The willing one to give of blood.
A choice to make, a way to mend.
Then will the reign of bloodlust end.
“How arethe words of Valen’s enchantress here? She was not part of Riot’s court.” I ruffled through more. Frode gave up his life to conceal secrets, but what secrets did we need to know?
“Ari.” Junie read another scroll, one hand on Niklas’s arm. “These are tales of us all. This . . . this sounds like the night Kase and Nik met.”
“Truly?” Niklas shared the space with his wife and scanned the words. “Shadows of hate cross a falcon to lift up a crown of fate.”
Riot lived before the lot of us. How were these tales written? How did they find their way here? Better yet, how long had Riot Ode been creating the tales of a world even he did not know existed?
“Take them. If we were to find secrets, I think we found them. We need to get to Saga.” I helped gather the scrolls. Niklas offered up his satchel to fill. Only once they were gathered did we aim for the door.
The moment I turned away the pitiful, skull-splitting screech wailed in my head again. I clutched my ears and nearly crumpled. “Gods. Whatis it?”
A hand found my shoulder. Junie. “Ari, we don’t hear anything.” She looked about. “What direction?”
I waved a hand back toward the shelf with the scrolls, one eye cracked. All that was left was the mound of flowers and—
“That.” I scrambled back toward the dirt. Out of place for a room made of stone. My hand tore out a blossom and the screams ceased.
I dug frantically. Stieg joined me, even Bo and Rune. We tossed dirt around Frode’s chambers until my fingers jammed against a wrap of sheepskin.
“Three hells.” I leaned over the edge into the hole and pulled the wrap to the surface. Pulse a frenzy in my throat, I dragged my fingers along the stitching of the sheath. A sword was wrapped in the skin.
Instinct told me what blade it would be before I unwrapped it. Still, to hold the blade I knew had been forged by my own mother dug into my chest. My thumb ran over the simple mark of her craftsmanship, a stylistic way to initial her name.
I swiped a hand under my nose and gripped the raven hilt. The leather, still untouched, burned under my skin. The blade, unused, was a blade made for cutting bone.
“This is from your mother,” Junius whispered.
I nodded, mouth tight.
“The fate king hid this for you.” Rune knelt next to Junius. “It was made for the new king of the isles.”
“Ari.” Junius lifted another folded parchment from the sheath.
My throat thickened. Written in neat, slanted words, it was addressed toThe King.
The parchment shuddered as I unfolded it and read. It wasn’t in the form of a song. No, this was a letter like the one he’d left for Saga, but this time, for me.
Blood of Jytte Larsdotter, the crafter of this blade.
If you hold it now, war has found you and the throne on which you must sit. I could not end this battle, and regretfully abandoned it at the feet of those I love.
