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The Beast of Salt (Saga of the Gods #1) 31. Avina 54%
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31. Avina

31

AVINA

November 10th, Year 100, 9th Era

Cliffside Burial, Salt Province

A vina stands slightly behind Sigvid, grateful for his broad shoulders wrapped in a bear fur cloak to block her from the view of his Drengr. No matter what he says about his ownership of her, some of their eyes still bore daggers.

Despite her unease at being anywhere near Sigvid as his equal at a funeral for the son of one of his Inner Circle, she knows the funeral is not about her or the Salt Prince.

As they brace against the falling snow along the cliff edge, Sven’s remains remind her they gather to bury in the cold saltwater of the South Sea.

Unlike the Ridge, which conceals the dead in thick stone coffins above ground, or the Timber and its winding underground catacombs, the Salt buries their bodies in the sea.

Avina feels a tug at her side. After much arguing, Thora eventually agreed to a lovely long-sleeved black dress and wool cloak in place of her armor.

Throughout the ceremony, the young girl clings to Avina’s side .

She wraps her arms around her without thinking, knowing Thora must be freezing. When she brushes aside her dark mass of curls, she finds her sobbing.

Avina’s insides twist at the sight.

Since Sigvid told Thora about Sven’s fate, the girl has been inconsolable.

Avina places a light kiss on the top of Thora’s unruly dark curls. “I have you. You are safe.” She whispers, only for the girl to cry harder.

Avina’s gaze fixes on Sven’s remains, wrapped in a black funeral cloth. A couple of Drengr, including Kar’s next oldest son, Lod, ventured up Fjell Mountain to bring Sven home.

Thankfully, the Ulv was long gone and returned to its home in the Abyss. Sigvid theorized that once they discovered Sven’s body, the creature’s master would send it back to the Abyss.

Kar and one of his other muscled children lift the body and carry Sven to the cliff edge.

Even with the howling wind, the silence around them is deafening. Ingirid, Kar’s wife, and his younger children begin a haunting chant in time with the body's swaying. Their sorrow cuts through the air, ensuring all hear their grief like a punch to the gut.

The chant continues, wrenching tears from her. Thora shudders at her side, her sorrow soaking into Avina’s gown.

As the bundle of remains leaves Kar and his children’s arms for the white waves below, she can sense Thora convulsing.

Kar and all of his children stand side by side, overlooking the stormy water with their left arms outstretched. He counts, and on three, they all slice their forearms, their blood an offering to the Briny God to accept Sven’s soul in the Depths.

Of all the funerals she has attended, this tugged on her heartstrings more than any.

A glimpse at Sigvid shows his head up, his jaw firm. He seems unmoved and uncaring, but she is growing to know him better. Sven may not have been an initiated Drengr, but the Lord Commander still considered him one of his men—a second-generation blood oath.

She notices his rigid posture and movements when he expresses condolences to Kar and his family. In moments like this, her twisted relationship with him is strangling. Her natural, sympathetic nature yearns to comfort him while he remains resolute for everyone else.

“What an eerie ceremony.” Grim leans down with his hands gripped behind his back.

“Unlike any I have encountered.” She watches Sigvid incline his head to each of Kar’s children.

“He is not a bad leader.” Grim lightly gestures to the graven Lord Commander, who shakes the hands of the extended family.

“Better than the King.” She nods over at his smiling brother, surrounded by young women. Thrain catches her staring and offers a grin, creepily similar to Sigvid, yet lacking honesty.

Grim waves him off as if Thrain is insignificant. “Thrain is a mask in the form of a man. He will always appear to be how he needs to accomplish his sick goals. No one can guess his thoughts or inclinations.”

“Not unlike his brother.” She scoffs, still holding Thora, whose emotions have reduced to a sniffle.

Grim smirks. “You, of all people, should know Sigvid is far from subtle.”

“Sometimes, I don’t think he wants me to know him.”

Grim sighs and she cannot discern if it’s frustration, amusement, or both.

“You know him more than any of us combined. More than his Drengr and certainly more than Thrain.”

Ridiculous .

“He allows you to see a different side of himself. I suspect you bring forth his vulnerability.” He considers her for a moment. “There is a fine line between love and hate, Avina. You have seen more of his raw emotions than anyone else.”

He takes a breath and steps forward, forcing her to look into his dark eyes.

“No one else but you has known his suffering, angst, and, if I might be so bold, his true and unadulterated affection. No matter how dark and obsessive his need for you might be.”

She scoffs even as she twirls a curl nervously. Grim’s words are like forcing her to stare at a vile corpse she knew lay before her yet cannot bring herself to acknowledge .

They each let their guard down before the other, only for circumstance or pride to shove them onward. From his torture session to the Ulv and everything that has happened in between, her connection with Sigvid is the closest she has ever felt to another human being outside of Bertie. Then, there are their wickedly sinful adventures, leaving her shaken with pleasure and pain.

“He might be an ass, but in the short time I have known him, I have watched him do more in your name than anyone else's. He can deny and justify all he wants, but that bastard holds you in some high regard.”

Avina is left speechless as Grim gives her a look that screams, ‘I know I am right,’ and blends into the crowd, leaving her and Thora alone.

“My people!” Thrain waves his arms, drawing attention to himself. “In honor of our departed brothers and my own brother’s safe return, a feast will be held in the longhouse at dusk.”

“Come on, Thora. Let’s get you to the carriage.” Avina guides the girl toward the stretch of horses and carriages along the field.

They are not far from Blackwood Inn. Had it not been snowing, they could have just as quickly walked home.

“For what it’s worth,” Thora wipes her nose with her sleeve, “Uncle Sig doesn’t actually like anyone except for his animals, me, and maybe Uncle Slode.”

Avina smiles at her, her chest squirming with amusement. “I should take comfort in the fact that he hates everyone?”

“Yes.” She nods enthusiastically. “He brought you here,” she holds up one finger, “killed one of his men to protect you,” holds up another, “saved you from drowning, and lets you sleep in his bed.” Thora shrugs, holding up four fingers. “I would be happy to have you as my Aunt Avina, although I like the ring of Aunt V.”

Avina stumbles over the dense snow building along the ground.

Wed to Sigvid?

What a far-fetched idea from this little girl who tells the cows about her day.

“Avina!” She turns to see Thrain hailing her.

“Go on.” She opens the carriage door so Thora can climb inside and escape the cold.

And Thrain.

“Your Highness.” While facing him, she paints the most sincere smile that can fashion upon her chapped lips at a funeral in winter in Salt.

King Thrain’s Second in Command allegedly confessed to murdering Sven. Shortly after his apprehension, Thrain privately beheaded him. Both the confession and execution were managed solely by Thrain.

Sigvid and Avina mutually found the ease of finding the murderer suspicious. Without proof of the Second's misdeeds, there is no way to know if he had been the killer. Or if his death hides a shadowy secret.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, his large black cloak billowing against his muscular frame.

Once again, his features render her speechless. His appearance is so much like his brother's, but it’s more than the facial structure and their identical chestnut-colored hair. A stirring of seidr reassures Avina that she can trust anything he says—except his mean smile. And then there is his tone, which holds a sharp edge no matter how friendly he seems.

“Always a little anxious at large gatherings.” She mutters.

Why am I admitting anything to him?

He nods in understanding. “I imagine Queen Avina experiences unkind glances in Salt.”

“When Prince Sigvid is around, the attitude is more gentle.” Her eyes search the crowd for him in an act that does not go unnoticed.

“‘When he is around.’ I see.” He repeats her words as if they speak volumes. “Will you attend the feast later? I would be honored to dispel the myths surrounding you.”

“Myths?” She snorts.

“For one,” he closes the distance between them and rakes his knuckles over her temple, “you are not an ugly beast.”

“Am I not?” She squeaks with a swallow at his closeness. Unable to shake how much he looks like his brother.

“No, you are stunning like the moon on a clear night.”

He is not Sigvid. She repeats the mantra.

“Sigvid!” She gasps, surprised at his sudden appearance and grateful to douse the Salt King’s Sacred Stone ability .

As if summoned by her mental chants, Sigvid approaches from behind, slapping his brother in the back of the head.

“Right now is not the time or place, but I will deal with you later for touching her.” He growls. “What are you trying to fuck with now, Thrain?”

“Brother!” Thrain’s genial grin maintains. “Nothing untoward. I am only extending an invitation to your beautiful guest for this evening. If she stays here indefinitely, our people should learn to be more welcoming.”

“I am only staying until the Solstice.” She pipes up, wanting both brothers to know and acknowledge that information.

Sigvid partially blocks his view of her. Grim’s words suddenly filter back into her mind like an annoying gnat.

“No shit, Avina is attending the feast. And as my guest, she will attend on my arm.” He twists his head over his shoulder to meet her eyes. A flicker of pain crosses his gaze.

What is that about?

“And she will be leaving after the Winter Solstice. There is no need to parade her to all the townsfolk.” Sigvid’s voice lowers to almost a whisper before turning back to his brother.

Her heart thunders.

Does Sigvid wish for her to stay? It will not be logistically possible, but if he wants her to remain in Toftlund, his sentiments may be more profound than hate. But are they warmer than keeping her as a mere live-in harlot?

He steps to the side, completely obscuring her from Thrain’s sight. “We will see you later.”

She leans around him in time to watch Thrain nod once before leaving them alone.

“I’m sorry, Sigvid, he just accosted me at the carriage.”

“I do not want you to be alone around him. I do not trust him-”

“My Lord? Avina?” Kar’s imposing voice halts their steps, allowing him and Ingirid to approach. They stop and bow low.

To both of them.

Avina bristles yet still holds her head up high despite Kar’s usual treatment of her. So when Ingirid throws her arms around her neck, she is stunned and silent.

“My Queen,” she whispers, “thank you. Thank you for bringing closure for my Sven.” Ingirid takes her hand in hers and backs away, her eyes watering.

“Commander,” Kar extends a hand which he accepts. “This happened under Thrain’s watch.”

“It did.” He nods.

“Someone covered up his death. Someone murdered my boy, Your Highness.” Kar holds Ingirid against him.

“They did,” he answers.

Avina notices a potent tone shift with Kar. He differs to Prince Sigvid as his King instead of a man young enough to be his son.

“You know who killed my son.” Kar tilts his head to the side.

Sigvid smirks. “How much time do you have?”

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