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

33. Sigvid

33

SIGVID

November 10th, Year 100, 9th Era

Toftlund City, Salt Province

A vina steps out of Thrain’s study.

A haunted expression lingers on her features. Even as he considers her wide-eyed expression, he realizes this may be the first time she took a life.

Sigvid pulls her into his chest and kisses her forehead. “Are you well, Avina? Is this your first kill?”

She lays her hands against his chest but does not reciprocate the embrace.

“Yes.”

Her hand reaches up from her side to clutch at the Sacred Stone beneath her gown.“Is it normal not to feel guilty?”

“For me, it always depends on the who. Someone like Ives,” he shakes his head, “I would not give him a second thought.” Sigvid tangles his fingers through her curls, tugging her soft hair under his nose to inhale the floral bouquet.

She sinks into his chest, accepting his embrace, and a faint reaction shudders over the warrior prince.

My Avina is as sweet as she is deadly. In my arms, no soul will touch or harm what is mine.

She remains pensive and thoughtful as he guides her from Thrain’s home to the carriage. She clears her throat to speak only when the wheels clatter across the cobblestone.

“Sigvid, have you ever been engaged? At any point in your life?”

Where did that come from?

“No. Never.” For a slew of reasons . “Why ask this?”

“Are you sure your father never created an arrangement with someone else on your behalf while you were young?” She leans forward in her seat, hands on her knees.

Why are you looking at me like that? Do you know something I do not?

“My father? Not to my knowledge. Please ask what you want to ask.”

She withdraws, her hands fold in her lap, and her gaze focuses out the window. A quiet sadness settles over her soft features. “I found a ring in Thrain’s office.”

Thrain spends more time exchanging bedfellows to settle with anyone.

Moonlight shines through the window, illuminating her strange expression. Her nose scrunches and her gaze is unfocused, lost in thought.

“There was no indication if he planned to promise it to someone. However,” Avina withdraws a crumpled piece of parchment and hands it to him. “This accompanied the ugly ring.”

“‘We have him. It’s your decision?’”

What does that have to do with the ring? None of this makes sense.

“Where exactly did you find these?”

“Inside a drawer of his desk.” Although she shrugs, he senses her guilt.

“Was there anything else worth taking?” Sigvid watches her look away as she shrugs.

She is lying.

After watching her kill a man and then rifle through his brother’s home, he decides to give her a pass on some light dishonesty .

“Do not feel bad about taking this. I know that shithead hides so many things that he deserves to have something stolen.”

“Sigvid,” she focuses on her hands and swallows hard, “please know that Samson forced me into the engagement. I would have died before I married him.”

“After everything we have gone through,” he hesitates, unsure if this admission is appropriate, “I believe, by now, I know you pretty well, Avina. He sounds like a shit man who does not deserve his title or anything for that matter, especially you.”

Her eyes water at his words.

“He will never stop hunting me. The backward Timber laws protect my crown even if I am not heir to the throne. I must die or wed him for him to become king.” Tears roam freely down her cheeks.

“I-I do not fully understand what came over me with Ives. I am not sorry, but I know it was wrong.” She buries her head in her hands while she sobs.

Sigvid rubs her back. “I will take care of Samson. Do not worry, my little Queen. It was not wrong. You protected yourself and the stone from a threat. Besides, the whole country needed to be free of that man.” He wraps her in a hug while she cries on his shoulder.

He has no doubt the Keeper's seidr played, at the very least, a part in her actions tonight. The stone ensured the likes of Ives would not take it, and she received the courage she needed.

As her tears slow and her eyelids droop with sleep, he feels overcome by a burning desire to shield her from the evils of this world.

S igvid plunges deeper into the pine forest. Bare footprints in the snow are the only indicator he has to know she may still be alive.

Damn her pride! She could not have gotten this far without shoes.

Waves of panic slam into his chest the more distance he puts between himself and the Drengr encampment. Her life hangs in the balance of him discovering her in time before something else does.

Dammit, Avina, how have you ventured so far away from me? When I find you, I will kill you myself for making me fucking worry over you.

Up ahead, the trees thin, and an expanse of a frozen lake opens before him with a figure standing a few steps out. From the tree line, Avina’s distinct curls cascade down her back. Twigs and dead leaves cling to her hair like she is a woodland enchantress.

His warning roar rumbles through the trees. Avina’s legs quiver as his fury reaches her.

Brace for my wrath, little one.

“Avina! Do not take another step.” He growls at her defiance.

An unexpected thud reverberates in his chest, and his heart threatens to implode.

When Avina’s head whips around, meeting his hardened gaze, a coil tightens over his heart, making him want to wrap his arms around those curves and never let go.

And then she places her foot further upon the ice, and his heart drops to the Abyss.

Cracks like spider webs crisscross the lake's surface with a sinister crack.

“Get off the ice!” Sigvid calls out to her, but it is too late.

Her final step summons a jagged chasm in the ice that opens up and swallows her whole.

Sigvid’s clothes fly off as he dives headfirst into the water, wearing only his undergarments. Cold embraces him like an old friend.

He finds her body and brings her limp form to the surface. Her head lolls against his arm as he cradles her unconscious body, running with all his might to the forest edge. His body convulses from the icy water, mingling with the winter air.

Nothing matters.

Not while the rise and fall of her chest slows, and those beautiful blues remain shut to him.

Dammit, Avina! I will not lose you!

He pushes on her chest until she chokes up water but does not wake.

“Avina! Wake up!”

Sigvid frantically mutters prayers to Noxumbra–Goddess of Fate, to spare her entry to the afterlife. His blood trickles over her lifeless form as a sacrifice.

Briny God, Father of Treland, he prays , please do not permit Avina to ascend to the Golden Citadel. I may not be an honorable man, but I swear to be her shield and her axe until the day she lies cold in the stone.

Fuck, the very thought of losing this woman drives him mad.

Could he storm the Golden Citadel and recall her soul at the point of his axe?

This enemy has possibly become the most important person in his life, even if the Prince could not pinpoint why.

He continues chest compressions, but she does not wake. Her lips tint a hideous shade of blue, and her heart stills. He would give his right arm for those orbs to open.

Rage against me, hate me, just meet my gaze. Fuel my life with that smile that I will never relinquish.

“Avina!” He screams at her, shaking her body to no avail as his world shatters around him like a cruel rain.

“Wake up, please! I barely have you in my life. You cannot leave me! I-I need you!” He holds her corpse against him as he sobs.

I command you not to leave me!

After everything they have gone through together and because of each other, Avina cannot leave him. Their history flashes before his eyes when she falls limply to the ground.

There is no anger left in him. Only the horrifying pain of having his heart ripped from his chest.

November 12th, Year 100, 9th Era

Toftlund City, Salt Province

“ F uck!”

Sigvid bolts upright in bed, his breathing heavy from the recurring nightmare.

A fucked up twist on the day he almost lost her and an unconscious fear that has only escalated since the escape from the Arena. Beads of sweat cling like dew over the inked muscle of his chest.

He reaches over and finds Avina sound asleep beside him in his bed. A distant little snore assures him she is very much alive.

That does little to alleviate the lingering despair from holding her limp in his arms. He drops his head into his hands.

Why do I feel this way? What has she done to me? Has she manipulated my mind from the beginning?

He kneels on the rough wooden floor of his bedroom and pulls up a single loose board. Sigvid removes all the letters she has ever sent him during the war.

He settles in an old rocking chair in the corner of the room, smoking his pipe by the flickering glow of a half-melted candle. While Avina slumbers in his bed, he reads through every exchange.

As the light begins to fade, his back thumps against the back of the chair.

“My little Queen,” he whispers, “you have meant every word you have ever written in these.” He smiles crookedly at her sleeping form .

To think he once thought her sarcastic and taunting.

With the parchment refolded to its original condition, he carefully stores the letters in his secret cavity with every item she has ever given him.

Sigvid runs his fingers through his beard. “I need something to drink.” He mutters.

After retrieving a glass of water, he sips the cool refreshment on his side of the bed while watching Avina slumber. Eventually, he climbs back into bed and stares at her chest as if she might stop breathing.

Sigvid slides an arm under her side, gently rolling her against his chest and inhaling her floral scent.

Ives is the last threat from the Timber Province. Tomorrow, he will leave for Scarwood and bring back dear old Samson. No one will ever threaten her again as long as Sigvid breathes.