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“When did that happen?”
“I said hold still,” she chided, and then knelt between my legs. She helped me remove pieces of the armor, dabbing at the gash with a sodden cloth. It hit the skin like liquid fire, and I bit my tongue to hold in a howl of pain. “And to answer your question, it probably happened when you pulled me away from the fray.”
“How didn’t I notice?”
“Adrenaline? The freezing cold temperature? The dead come back to make us like them? How should I know?” she quipped. Her small, nimble fingers pulled out gravel and glass from inside the wound. “Am I allowed to seal this with magic, or will you insist on torturing yourself? I don’t have to tell you that the mistletoe slowed your healing.”
I gnawed the inside of my cheek to contain another shout. I wasn’t the one torturing myself. That was her job, and she was accomplishing it very well.
“Why ask? You never asked before.”
“You weren’t in any condition to answer,” she replied. “Do you want me to heal this or what?”
I considered saying ‘no’. If Jovi and my brother’s lives didn’t depend on my continued survival, I might have. But they did. So, I inclined my head in lieu of a spoken reply.
Fyrcat gave me a tiny nod in return and then waved a hand over the wound, muttering an incantation. The words were familiar and yet totally alien on her tongue. She’d called upon the healing power of Eir. Every nerve in my body snapped with energy and then a bone-deep sorrow at the reminder of her loss.
“You called on Eir. Why?”
“We see her as the patron deity of healing,” she answered with a shrug. “Though she never officially accepted the offer to join the Aesir or the Vanir, her followers still see her as more than just a Valkyrie or a witch.”
“Then you hold her in much esteem.”
She nodded, then frowned at me. “While I think you’re a pigheaded idiot, I can’t fault you for taste. She was the best of all of us.”
“Thank you for that,” I said and frowned.
She raised an eyebrow. “Two ‘thank yous’ in one day. My, my. You’re going soft, berserker.”
I growled, which only made her laugh. The sound was soft and intimate in the cramped confines of the hovel. Only then did it sink in that there was an attractive woman kneeling between my legs, soft hands splayed to either side of my groin. From the wicked glint in her eyes, I could tell she’d noticed too.
“Fyrcat…” I began.
But it was as far as I got. She lunged for the fire, removing the pot from the flames an instant before they leaped into the air, punching a hole through the ceiling of our hiding place. The walls shook, and the heat rolling through the room damn near seared my eyebrows off.
“Ah,” she sighed, and I could have sworn I heard disappointment in her voice. “It looks like they’re coming back, after all. We should get outside.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she said, tugging me to my feet. “This place is about to go up in flames.”
***
Jovi
The heat from the furnace released a burst of steam as Brisingr tossed a handful of odd powder into the flames. He pressed down on the forge bellows that blew air into the kindling to keep the fire burning. I stood beside Torsten, waiting for the moment when the flames were their hottest. Then Brisingr signaled for us to enter the forge and I held Torsten’s hand tightly.
“Are you sure this will work?” I whispered, so low that only he’d be able to hear.
“Pretty sure,” he replied.
“Well, that’s reassuring. At least the Magic Eight Ball is giving you good news. I’d hate to get ‘reply hazy try again’ or ‘outlook not so good.’”
I couldn’t contain a wispy chuckle. We were about to step into a furnace of our own free will. This was nuts. I was half-convinced that I was going to wake up at any moment and discover this had all been some wild dream. It was too bizarre to be my life.
Torsten smiled down at me. “You’re babbling because you’re nervous.”
I waved a hand at the flames and drawled, “Oh no, what could I possibly have to be worried about?”
