“Eli will not forgive me for this,” I said once Arvad had the furs rolled and strapped over his shoulder.
There was heat in my husband’s eyes, but also pain. He detested Eli, but knew the prince was my friend—had been my friend—and betrayed me. Such emotions were not so simple to forget.
“He made his choice by forcing your hand, Lil.” Arvad cupped my cheek. “Should he get on his knees, plead for your forgiveness, perhaps I’ll consider allowing him to sit in your presence. An honor he could’ve had if he had not been such a bastard.”
“I know. How he could do it?”
“Do you want the truth, or shall I pretend I don’t have any theories.”
Arvad laughed when I pinched his side. “The truth.”
“I believe your prince wants you for himself.”
I bit on the inside of my cheek. “He asked once. If I would be a consort. He already has consorts. I refused, of course, not interested in being a lover when it pleased a man. I wanted love, the same as my parents.” I tugged on Arvad’s tunic and urged his mouth close to mine. “I got it in you.”
He kissed me slowly, then took my hand and together we made our way through the trees. Together, we would take my father from our longhouse. Together, we would leave Timoran into our new life in Etta.
There was a delightful peace knowing Arvad Ferus was at my side. Doubtless, there would be trials in Etta when it was announced he’d taken me as a bride. But his mother and father approved. My father approved.
We had friends in Dagar, Sasha, and Kjell.
It was a beautiful start.
When we stepped into the light of my family’s longhouse, all at once, Arvad covered me with his body, violent curses ono his tongue.
“Arvad.” I screamed when someone shouted and a breathy hiss through the air landed with a thud into my husband.
An arrow was buried in his shoulder.
“No, no.” I maneuvered around him, desperate to shield my husband from whatever was happening.
“Don’t you dare, Lilianna.” He used his good arm to keep me behind him. “Don’t look, Lil. Don’t look.”
It was too late.
My head spun. Sound muffled. Shouts and cries sounded more like they came from deep underwater. Smoke and flames burned in the distance. They were blurred to me. All I was the post near the front gates.
My father—my gentle, kind, safe father—was bound and bloodied, a Timoran ax cut through his skull.
He was dead.
Gone.
I doubled over, screaming, thrashing. Arms held me back. Arvad grunted when one of my shoulders knocked the arrow in his shoulder.
But in the next breath, he was gone. Torn from me violently enough I stumbled forward. Two Timoran warriors had their hands on my husband, one pressed on the arrow, digging it deeper into his flesh.
“Stop!”
A hand grabbed me before I could move. I reeled around and met the bright eyes of Eli Lysander. At his back was Fin and Njord, both with looks of fright under their heavy battle helms.
I slapped at Eli’s face, unbothered by his royal blood. He’d attacked my husband and slaughtered my father. I wanted to feel his damn eyes shred under my fingernails.
“Lili, stop. Enough.”
Njord and Fin took hold of my arms, yanking me off the prince. Eli spit blood and had gashes on his face.
“You killed him.”
Eli blinked toward my father’s body. He shook his head. “No, they . . . they were only supposed to bind him. My father swore it.”
“I hate you!” I cared nothing if it was King Jón who ordered my father’s execution. I hated them all. I wanted them all dead.
“No.” Arvad’s voice drew me back to focus. He looked across the yard.
Kjell, Dagar, and Sasha were bound, with blades aimed at their throats.
“They summoned a battle, Arvad,” Dagar bellowed before one of the Timoran warriors kicked his ribs.
“They’re using you as a pawn to get into Etta,” Kjell finished. But he, too, was shoved forward, face in the soil.
Battle cries rose in the distance. None of the Timorans seemed fazed by the beat of drums, the cries and chants of those stepping into battle. In truth, more of my own people materialized, blades raised, as though it was expected.
On a distant knoll, a line of warriors rose against the sunrise. Trees swayed. Snow split, bursting with heavy dirt and branches and soil.
Night Folk.
In the center was the queen. They’d brought their armies against us.
“Ah, you received our note about your son, I see, Kelda.” Across the lawns, King Jón stepped forward, fully armored, and flanked by a dozen warriors.
“Return my son and his bride,” the queen boomed in return. She’d come for the both of us.
“Bride?” Eli gaped at me.
“I am Lilianna Krigare Ferus,” I hissed. “You have no power over me.”
Eli’s lip curled. “He was only here to take you. We were told it was to take you, not bleeding vow with you.”
“You bastard,” Arvad hissed. “You set us all up. For what? For a damn war? You saw to it Vidon had the missive about her patrol, didn’t you? You should have killed us in the wood, for I will never stop trying to take your head now.”
Eli’s face contorted in a grimace. “Vidon gave you her patrol, but you were to come straight out, not hide away in the damn trees.”
It was a strike to my heart. Arvad discovered my location because my father had been told by someone in a tavern. A ruse. It was constructed by Eli, all to trap Arvad.
I trembled in rage. “You’re the reason he’s dead. Why, Eli? After all these turns, why would you do this to me?”
The prince’s face flushed in a poisonous red. “Because you are mine, Lilianna. Mine. You always have been.”
I laughed. A little delirious, a little vicious. “I will never be yours. I belong body, soul, and heart to Arvad Ferus.”
Eli’s eyes flashed with something cruel. “Then I hope you know you will ache to watch him die.”
Panic, swift and frenzied filled my heart when the two guards at Arvad’s back shoved him forward, blades trained at the back of his neck.
Ettan warriors bellowed their cries. Even King Jón ordered Eli to cease his stupidity. Arvad was the pawn he needed to trade. War would bring slaughter if he was killed.
Eli listened to no one. “Kill him.”
“No!” I screamed. Heat burst in my veins, strange and furious. I scrambled across the frosted earth, desperate to reach Arvad. What I’d do to save him, I didn’t know. If needed, I’d cover him with my own body and my father and I would await him in the great hall of the gods.
The heat pulsed faster.
I didn’t hear the gasps or bellows of fright. All that mattered was reaching my husband.
By the time, I flung my arms around his head, the guards had stumbled backward.
“Lil.” Arvad whispered, muffled under my choking hold. “Lil, look at me.”
Tears clouded his beautiful features, but I could make out the dark mystery of his eyes. Arvad looked side to side, then back at me, beaming. “You are chosen by the land, Lilianna Ferus. You are a true future queen of Etta.”
Still grasping onto his head, I dared look about.
My heart stuttered. Through the ice and snow, jagged roots and brambles had burst through. Thaw took to the frost in great patches, and small, petite blossoms reached for the bleary sunlight. The roots tangled around the ankles, waists, and wrists of Timoran warriors. They encircled Eli’s throat.
Even Jón and his warriors were ensnared.
Dagar and Kjell made quick word of ridding their wrists of bindings. Dagar cut through Sasha’s and pulled his wife against his chest. With the heavy toe of his boot, Kjell kicked the fallen Timoran, tangled in sharp briars.
“What is this?” I whispered.
“You summoned fury, Wife.”
I blinked down at Arvad. “This wasn’t you?”
“Oh, I started it, but you finished it. I do not have the strength for this. No, this is that moment I told you about—when you know the land chooses it’s ruler. Timoran by blood, Ettan by heart, Lil.”
I stared at my palms. I was not fae. I did not have fury. Was it the bond of my vows with Arvad? Or had the magic that lived in the soil truly been summoned by my call.
The Ettan warrior stormed through the gates of my lawn. With care, Kelda ordered her men to remove my father and prepare him for a proper funeral pyre. She was breathless when she dropped to her knees in front of me and Arvad.
There were tears in her eyes when she touched my cheek. “I am honored to have you love my son. The fury of these lands sensed your devotion.”
“Do I . . . have fury, then?”
“No.” Kelda grinned. “But it answered to you all the same. You are truly formidable, my girl. What a grand queen you will make.”
Dagar and Kjell helped Arvad to his feet. I wrapped my arms around his waist, wincing when one of the Ettan warriors snapped the arrow, then carefully wrapped the point, so it would not move until Arvad could find a healer.
One arm around my shoulders, he pressed a kiss to my head. “I am in awe of you, Little Huntress.”
I only tightened my hold on my husband. I’d lost one love of my life—my father—but I had another, and I would never stop clinging to him.
* * *
“You witnessed for yourself. She was claimed by fury—the gods magic—and she is vowed to the heir of Etta.” Kelda sat across from a battered King Jón. “Surrender your animosity, Highness. You nearly got your folk slaughtered today.”
The king’s jaw tightened. “Take the girl and go.”
Kelda sighed. “Timoran blood now lives in the royal house of Etta. Gods, Jón, we’re too old for this. Let us have peace.”
The king flinched. “For now, Kelda. Leave our lands, and we will not trouble yours. But I assure you, a mere common huntress”—he sneered at me— “will never be a true alliance. For now, rest, I suppose. Perhaps the next generation will finally find that peace . . . or war.”
Kelda’s shoulders slumped. “You will come to regret this turmoil. Your people will suffer. But if that is what you say, then we will go. No more blood need be spilled.”
Arvad, arm wrapped in a linen sling, took my hand and urged me off the chair beside him. He pressed a kiss to my knuckles. “Ready?”
I looked over my shoulder. Timoran warriors were haggard, a little disheveled after being trapped by the soil underfoot. Folk from the village had boarded their doors. Trade routes were now blockaded. Even fewer resources would safely reach Timoran from Etta, all because of Eli’s jealousy and Jón’s pride.
I found Eli behind his father. His eyes were cold, almost deadened. They were not the eyes of the boy who once teased while we skipped stones at the river. They were not the eyes of the friend I’d once loved.
He had not landed the killing blow, but had been part of my father’s death. A funeral pyre would be ignited at sunset tomorrow in Etta. The place my daj wanted to live out long days with me and House Ferus.
I would see to it his ashes lived forever in the soil of the land.
When Eli finally met my gaze, I shook my head and turned to Arvad. “I’m ready. Let’s go home.”