The Beast of Salt (Saga of the Gods #1)

25. Sigvid

25

SIGVID

November 4th, Year 100, 9th Era

Toftlund City, Salt Province

T he two-hundred Drengr army, plus Grim and a bound Avina, approach the gates of Toftlund on horseback.

An imposing wall of crushed colorful shells wraps around the city, protecting the seat of the Salt Province since its creation.

Sigvid hears a sharp intake of breath in front of him. A glance down shows Avina unblinkingly basking in the early evening sun, which strikes the stucco homes of Toftlund in a dazzling display. He smirks at her reaction.

“Impressive, is it not?”

His words cause her to jump in apparent surprise. After the previous night, she is more nervous in his presence and continues to poke at her bandaged arm. “I have read of this city a hundred times and could never have prepared for its beauty.”

I thought the same of you when you entered my cell in Scarwood.

He tightens the reins of his horse as an excuse to press his arms around her curves. As they ride closer to the city walls, her excitement fills him with an elusive emotion he has written off as belonging to children.

When she squeals as they are finally within sight of the mighty main gates, he knows she is eliciting joy within him. Joy to watch his little Queen react with pure innocence.

“The Briny God.” She whispers as the gates open, revealing a towering, lifelike statue that resembles the legend of the Briny God. The statue wears elaborately detailed Salt armor, a single braid down his back, and a pair of dual axes.

“How does it feel to glimpse into the face of the far superior god?” Sigvid nuzzles her hair with his nose, relishing her softness.

Avina snorts, opens her mouth to retort, and seems to think better.

“Come now, Avina. No snarky response?” Instead of a quip, he watches her cheeks redden.

What had she been about to say?

She sighs, twisting her head to the side, causing her long curls to brush along his forearms.

A lone rider rushes out of the gates and directs his path toward them.

“Good day, my lord.”

“What does my brother want, Gunter?” The short, balding man is one of his brother’s many sycophants.

“His Majesty King Thrain requests your presence as soon as you enter the city.” He prattles off the message with such haughty self-importance that it takes all Sigvid’s self-control not to punch him square in the jaw.

“And if I would rather bypass my brother and return home?”

“King Thrain wants to speak with you today,” Gunter responds as if there is no room for discussion.

The truth of the matter is that his fucking ass of a sibling will march out to Sigvid’s home and demand an audience regardless. As much as Sigvid wants to lock himself away and play with his Avina, he must abide by Thrain’s rules.

For now.

“Fine.” He growls.

Gunter falls away from them as they ride into the city's Eastern region, bustling with wooden storefronts, stall vendors, and inns for merchants traveling across Treland and beyond. Sigvid is proud to say many tradespeople from other countries set up shop in Toftlund, ensuring it is by far the most diverse city in the country. Flags from countries like Steinlund, Skalor, and even the wealthy Astria wave proudly above everything from taverns to blacksmiths.

He inhales the smell of salt water, honey, and leather. Home .

Store owners and milling citizens pause along the cobblestone streets to ogle at the Drengr. He could easily discern the locals, who immediately take a knee as he rides by.

Avina hunkers down, trying to avoid the attention of the citizens who point and gape.

“They recognize you?” She spins around to look up at him. The horse's jostle bumps her further into his chest, causing his beard to stroke her cheek.

“A good leader is known and respected by his people. How else does he receive their allegiance?” Unlike Thrain, Sigvid takes a hands-on approach to the myriad of local issues, meaning almost all of Toftlund knows him by sight alone.

Avina shifts her weight, seemingly uncomfortable. “What are you insinuating?”

“That my younger brother’s poor leadership is disgraceful.” He scrunches his brow. “Do you have a differing commentary on him as King?”

“Not at all.” She sounds surprised, unprepared for his response. “After Rendel’s death, I try to be diligent where the Timber people need me most. Even if the nobles think otherwise.” She mutters the last bit under her breath.

“You are not the only one who studied their opponent, Avina. Your ability to take charge in a situation thrust upon you is simply remarkable.” He brushes her curls over her shoulder, revealing her still-flushed cheeks.

“I was forced to marry Rendel and only survived because some of my closest friends growing up were books.” She fiddles with her hands resting bound in her lap.

Sigvid chuckles, thinking of young Avina holed up in corners around the Sapphire Palace, balancing books on her knees.

He should ignore her comments. Instead, he reacts despite himself, “You are the most brilliant woman I have ever met. No matter our future, know you will always have my respect.”

“At one point, that was all I could have hoped for from you. But now,” Avina sighs deeply, “I am a mere trophy to hang in your home.” Her right hand twitches toward her freshly wrapped left forearm. “To shame and display for all to see. The Timber Queen has finally seen defeat.”

“Perhaps, but that does not detract from your inner strength.” For some unknown reason, her ability to withstand him is more than endearing. He is fucking addicted to the uncountable number of ways he can push this woman to the brink.

They march around the bend and enter the main street through Toftlund’s center, where smiling faces pack along the colorful storefronts. The sound of cheers is deafening.

Sigvid glances out and notices many city folk struggle to stand on their feet. Some even look dazed.

Is everyone fucking drunk?

They continue toward the tallest building in town with high wooden beam ceilings and a thatched roof. It was Sigvid’s ancestral residence, but now it is a central gathering place known simply as the longhouse.

Adjacent to that is his childhood home, where his brother now resides. The house is old yet still retains a sense of grandeur, predominantly due to Thrain’s champagne tastes.

Avina squirms as they ride closer to the longhouse. She grips Hest’s mane until her knuckles whiten.

When they reach Thrain’s home, his brother appears in the flesh. He stands tall over the crowd with thick, flowing chestnut-colored hair framing his angular face. His brown eyes narrow at Sigvid as he dismounts and helps Avina to the street. Her gaze is surprisingly focused as she intently searches the crowd.

She is going to run. It's a good thing I thought of binding her again.

“My lord!” One of the Salt Gothi hails him.

The religious leaders are found throughout the land and relinquish sex and alcohol to live a life of poverty in an ornate temple. This one happens to be a young male with a fiercely determined expression.

The Gothi stands between Thrain’s home and Sigvid as if guarding something. “I am thrilled to see you safe from the Arena, my lord. I see you return home with a guest.” His words tumble out awkwardly as if he would rather be anywhere else than confronting Sigvid Thordsson.

“Gothi.” He nods his head. “Yes, I have someone with me.”

The young man hesitates, his frail hands scratching at his brown wool cloak as if it might inspire his words. “I humbly request that you permit the Timber Queen to move into the care of the Treland Gothi. We—er, do request this as our authority—er, bestowed upon us by the gods.”

Is he asking me a question or telling me to give up my ownership of Avina?

Sigvid claps his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Alfi, can I call you Alfi?”

“It’s Skorri,” he mutters.

“It will not come up again.” Sigvid wraps his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Listen, Alfi, I am going to introduce Avina,” he gestures to her, who bears an expression like she is witnessing him filet this man alive, “to my brother. Then I am going to take her to my home and fuck her cunt until she can no longer string together coherent sentences.”

The Gothi swallows hard and continues sweating profusely. “I, er, the head Gothi, do wish to see the Queen safe.”

“Does she look unsafe to you?” Sigvid nods to his bound prize, who increasingly looks like she wants to dig a hole and hide in it

“I, er, she looks alive.”

“I knew I liked you, Alfi.” Sigvid slaps a hand on his back and nearly shoves him onto the street, away from them.

With one hand tight on the back of Avina’s neck and the other on her shoulder, he guides her through the parting crowd to Thrain’s condescending smirk.

He can feel her shift under his grasp the closer they are to Thrain. There is no way to prepare her to meet his brother.

In typical Thrain fashion, his smile twists into that charming allure women and men fawn over.

But not Sigvid.

Unlike many, he can see through his brother’s facade.

Quite literally, in fact.

“Who is this lovely specimen, brother?” Thrain’s voice is like molten honey dripping over a burnt loaf. The bread will always taste like ash, no matter how sweet the syrup.

Sigvid lets out a guttural growl, sending the lingering Toftlunders scurrying away. The three of them are left alone on the stretch of lane.

“Brother, brother,” Thrain holds up his hands, feigning surrender. “I only summoned you to exchange pleasantries. Your Drengr seem exhausted. Send them home and come inside with this beautiful woman.” Thrain runs his pointer finger under Avina’s chin.

Sigvid does not miss her shiver from his touch. “Careful, brother.” His growl is so low his chest vibrates in response.

Thrain smiles effortlessly before entering his home.

Sigvid points two fingers at several of his Drengr to remain nearby while dismissing the rest.

“I did not realize you and Thrain are twins. You have such similar facial features that it is impossible not to notice.” Avina pipes up.

He halts. At first, a wicked snarl betrays his displeasure at her comparison. Then, the magnitude of her words sinks in.

She remarked on the similarity between his and Thrain’s faces .

Oh, my little Queen. If only you understood the implication of your words.

As fucking terrible as this is going to be once they enter Thrain’s house, a sick satisfaction passes over him. Even with his brother's illusion, she still only sees Sigvid.

“Before we enter, you must know something about my little brother.”

She twists from his grip to look up at him.

Yes, meet the actual source of your strange trust.

“Contrary to popular belief, the berserker power is not the only seidr gift to come out of the Salt Province. Destined to be the diplomat, Thrain received a rather uncommon ability. ”

Sigvid holds her gaze, needing her to understand the gravity of the situation. “Thrain’s face is an illusion. An illusion to all who have not seen him before his Sacred Stone Ceremony on his thirteenth nameday.”

“An illusion?” Her mouth gapes. “I do not understand.”

“The seidr alters his features to represent someone the viewer finds attractive and, more importantly, trustworthy. Thrain never needs to cultivate confidence among our people. He only needs to look at them.”

“However you beheld my brother defines your perception of trust. He appeared to you as someone you would place your faith in, someone you have confidence in and respect to protect you.” He cannot help but notice a brush of crimson across her cheeks.

Her eyes cannot meet his. “Could you tell me what he looks like? I have my powers. Why can I not cancel his?”

He chuckles at her sound logic. “The Stones’ powers do not work that way, my little Queen. If it is any consolation, his features are relatively bland by Salt standards.” He pauses with a grin. “I did get the looks in the family.”

A genuine smile tugs at her lips before faltering. “Is his ability new? I have never read of anyone in Treland receiving such an ability from the gods.”

“It is ancient.” He does not elaborate.

Sigvid unbinds her wrists and repurposes the rope to a leash tied under her breasts.

Naturally, she spits in protest, but that does not stop him from dragging her up the stairs to the front door.

When they enter Thrain’s home, Sigvid is disgusted to see what he has done with the place in the last three and a half months. Somehow, his childhood home is now unrecognizable save for the long, low-floor hearth burning brightly. The same in-ground fireplace he once shoved a younger, upstart Thrain into.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” Thrain emerges from a side room wearing a black silk robe over his tunic and trousers. His bare feet give him a more down-to-earth and absurd appearance.

“What have you done to this pl-… why in the Abyss are you dressed like a Gothi on holiday?” Sigvid quips.

Thrain clutches his chest in an exaggerated hurt. “I invite you into my home, and you instantly insult me. Tisk Tisk, brother.” Thrain strides over until they are eye-to-eye.

Slowly, he stoops to Avina, painting his smile wide. “We have not been adequately introduced, beautiful. I am King Thrain Thordsson. Although, I imagine you know that by now.”

Beautiful?

Sigvid counts down from five to calm himself but only reaches number four. Fuck I am going to kill him before the day is out.

“Q-queen Avina.” She stammers, twisting against Sigvid’s front.

She is caught under Thrain’s Sacred Stone ability, forcing her to see him as an honorable man, much like a spider lures a fly to its web to devour within its own time.

“Your Highness.” He bows low and then tilts his head to the side. “Please, my lady, dispel the rumors of your existence in my city as a mere interest in our architecture and not because you are held captive by Sig.”

“Do not call me Sig,” Sigvid snarls. “She is my prisoner of war.” His grip on her neck and shoulder tightens until she whimpers.

“I can see that.” Thrain tears away the cloth over Sigvid’s mark on her arm. His nose wrinkles in the perfect appearance of disdain at the scarring. He stands to his full height with an expression of fucking pity.

“I look forward to discussing peace talks between our provinces. No matter what authority my brother feels he wields over you, know it is not more than mine.” Thrain drags his knuckles over her cheek. “You fear him, do you not?”

“I will not bow to his ferocity.”

Thrain licks his lips as if preparing to savor the choice cut of meat.

“Enough, Thrain.” Sigvid’s arm on her neck dips down under her heavy breasts, locking her against him.

Thrain’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits despite the gentlemanly demeanor he is faking for the Timber Queen’s sake. “As King, I can withdraw your control of the Salt Army anytime. Even your oath-bond friends would be no match. Father saw fit to sideline you in a support role…to play with your rocks.”

“I am the Salt Army! You weak, poor excuse for a man hiding behind your mask! No force stands a chance against the might of my Drengr. Their skill is worth one to twenty on an average warrior. ”

Sigvid’s hand clutches one of his axe handles. His free hand grips Avina as if Thrain might steal her away. “I should not have to explain this to you, King .”

Thrain sneers and takes measured steps until he is so close he would be nose to nose had Avina not stood between them. “You may justify your influence in society, but we both know you are muscles stuffed into an angry man's body.” He tilts his head, lowering his voice, “Strike me with your captive present. Let her see your true dignity before it’s too late.”

She clears her throat rather loudly. “With all due respect, King Thrain, Sigvid did brutally murder one of his own Drengr because of me and in front of me.”

“My brother should never have subjected Your Majesty to such savagery.”

Avina shakes her head to Sigvid’s astonishment. “I have lived a quiet life without love. Having someone kill for me was the closest I have ever felt to feeling cared for.”

He holds her tighter, “She is about to witness the sheer force of my brutality if you do not step away.”

For a final time, Thrain bows to Avina. “I still have much to learn of you, Queen Avina Bloodstone. Perhaps you might indulge me while held prisoner here? I promise I do not keep my trophies in cages.”

“Thank you, King Thrain.” Her stately voice is more impressive and stately than Sigvid has ever heard.

I see you, Avina, the young girl who rehearsed speeches and practiced her interactions with care.

“Sigvid, you are dismissed. After the last several months, your farm no doubt needs tending to.” Thrain flourishes his hand.

There is still one person in this town who he trusts implicitly with his creatures. With any luck, they would not have let his animals starve.

With that, he tows her out of the house and into the biting chill of early evening. People continue milling about, but the crowd and Drengr have dispersed.

She buckles her knees, refusing to take another foot off the steps. “I wish to go home.” Her voice wavers, and she chokes slightly. “I have someone who needs me.”She bites her lip and looks away, her fists shaking.

“You are my guest indefinitely.” There is no discussion on this matter.

He fucking owns her.

However, her sudden tears stir an uncomfortable feeling in the warrior.

She collapses to her knees, her face buried in her hands. “She is all that I have.” She can barely speak through the torrent of emotion.

“Who do you have that needs you?” His tone softens despite himself.

“Nellie. They’ll kill her. Samson will kill her. She has no one to save her.” Her words jumble out frantically.

“Who is Nellie?” he kneels beside her.

“My cat.” Her lips tremble. “I rescued her from being eaten alive by hounds. That’s what they do with stray cats in Timber. I couldn’t save her mum or litter mate, but I could save my Nellie.”

Her brow creases, and she looks up with loathing in her lovely eyes. “I hate you! You were supposed to be different.”

Her comment grieves him more than he cares to admit. He struggles to remain impassive. “Who feeds the cats to the hounds? Where do you keep your cat?”

“She lives-“ Avina tilts her head toward him. “Why?” She sniffles.

“This is important.” He leans closer, making her inhale sharply. “I need to know where you keep her and who feeds the cats to the hounds.” His expression is serious as his eyes bore into hers.

She meets his intensity in silence. A myriad of emotions cross her face in rapid succession. Finally, she closes her eyes and hangs her head.

“Nellie was living in my quarters. The Hound Master tortures the strays. He and I have had issues in the past. He lives outside the castle.”She chortles, “Do you intend to befriend him to deepen my torture?”

Sigvid grinds his teeth just thinking about this asshole. “I intend to murder this fucker and bring her home.”

She twirls a loose curl in thought. “I wish to make you a deal.” She takes a steady inhale and exhales before continuing. “You kill my Hound Master and bring Nellie back to me. Then I agree to be your toy, your prize, your whore, your pleasure slave until after the Winter Solstice. After which time you agree to let me return home to rule.”

He listens to her offer, stroking his beard. Her attention flips to a cat darting across the street. In that blip of a moment when her concentration focuses elsewhere, Sigvid’s features betray everything.

I know she needs this—an appearance of freedom, even if the reality is anything but so .

Sigvid is not an honorable man, and the dark taste he has acquired for her is exquisite. No amount of running can keep her from his grasp.

Once her focus returns to him, he levels an indifferent expression. As if she is nothing more than a meaningless collection of holes for him to fuck.

As if she does not matter to him.

As if she is not his secret obsession.

“You have a deal, Avina.” He lies.