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

35. Sigvid

35

SIGVID

November 20th, Year 100, 9th Era

Blackwood Inn, Salt Province

“ D o not run off again, Nellie.” Sigvid scolds the tiny cat nestled against his thick chest beneath his wool cloak. “That wolf did not deserve a punch because you think you are tough shit.”

He scratches behind her ears, grumping as her big green eyes close tight and her teeny body vibrates with happiness.

Hest stomps through snow to the horse’s knees as they arrive home at Blackwood Inn.

He brushes back Nellie’s black fur, “There, you look presentable.”

He strides through the front doors, expecting to find Avina and Thora curled in a pair of chairs by the fire. Instead, he discovers smoldering embers and a quiet, echoey space.

“Avina, are you here? Thora?”

After examining the kitchen, central room, and his bedchamber, he stomps down the spiral staircase from the guest rooms. Nellie’s head twitches at each noise.

Sigvid hears wood clacking, followed by shouting out in the backyard. “Fuck,” he runs out the back door, not knowing what to expect and fearing the worst.

He skids to a halt along the shadowed deck to find Thora sparring with Avina in his small ring. The snow has melted, mostly clearing away to the frosted dirt in the ring, where they circle one another.

“Great, Auntie V! You got closer that time.” Thora commands, her high-pitched voice slightly muffled by the thick scarf wrapped around her head and a fox fur cloak. She swings a wooden practice sword at her side with deft precision.

Avina is equally bundled with a wolf cloak, a knitted cap, and a matching scarf. She, too, clutches a wooden sword. Although her stance suggests it might bite her. “Thora, you must stop calling me that.”

Even from the deck, Sigvid can tell his little Queen is out of breath.

“Uncle Sig is obviously obsessed with you. I’m not dumb, Auntie V. I saw your arm.”

My ownership has some meaning.

“I might as well get comfortable with it all now.” Thora shrugs.“Again!”

They square off, circling one another. Thora swings first and meets Avina’s block. She aims again, but Avina pushes back and manages a strike on her side.

“Excellent!” Thora’s excitement is tangible.

“Nice hit, Avina.” Sigvid strides out into the packed snow.

“Sigvid!”

“Uncle, Sig!”

Avina and Thora abandon their swords and rush to his side. Eight days away, he would have thought he is returning from war. He tries and fails to restrain his amusement.

“I have something you may be interested in.” He pats his cloak, where a tiny meow emanates.

Avina stops in her tracks, rocking in the heavy snow. “Goddess, is that?” She takes hesitant steps until she is so close he can feel her warmth.

“I have your furry child that does not listen well.” Sigvid pulls a shaking Nellie from his cloak. “But, she has missed you.”

“Nellie!” Avina squeals as her fingers gingerly wrap around her tiny cat’s body. Her knees sink into the snow as she cradles Nellie to her cheek like a long-lost child. “Nellie Bell, I am so sorry it took so long for us to be reunited. I hope they treated you well.”

Sigvid cannot help but cherish this reunion. A nagging affection grows in the core of his chest as the cat’s grumbly purrs increase with Avina’s tears.

She and that cat might melt my cold heart.

“A maid informed me she stayed in a cabinet in the kitchen. She received attention and food and was kept safe.”

Usually, he would care less about sharing details of a journey, as if it is someone else’s concern. Like everything with Avina, her mere presence quiets the beast clawing under the surface. And, in this tender moment, he wants nothing more than to hold her in his lap and regale her.

He withdraws the sack of supplies the servants sent, and drops it at her side. Sigvid caught Joetta slip items for Avina into the bag, including a tiara in the Timber style of silver twigs and leaves, baked treats, and a crocheted scarf.

“Did Joetta take care of you, Nell Bee? Did she?” Avina lathers her with love and kisses. The cat’s eyes are little slants, and her head tilts side to side in delight at the adoration.

Thora watches them with interest. “You traveled to Timber with two Drengr to save a cat, Uncle Sig?” Her eyebrows knit together, and she glances at him with borderline disapproval.

“Yes.” Sigvid’s lips tug. “And we disposed of a certain Hound Master.”

“I always enjoy a good story where you slay some asshole.” Thora smirks.

“I will tell you later, kid.” He pats her on the back.

Seeing them both outside training churns a foreign feeling in his chest. He never imagined he, Sigvid Thordsson, would demand the presence of anyone longer than necessary. But this woman, this fucking woman, is unlike any he has ever encountered. And fuck if she does not belong to him.

“I told you, Aunt V, he is obsessed.” Thora sings her words while skipping through the snow and into Blackwood.

Aunt V? Well, they have gotten close.

“Is the Hound Master really-?”

“I cut off his hands and fed him to his tortured creatures who savored every last bite.” He responds before she can finish her thought. “We also released the cats and hounds.”

Her eyes close, and a content smile perks her lips up. Avina tickles a purring Nellie behind her ears. “It’s surreal to know you were at my… home.”

Is there hesitation in referring to Scarwood as home?

“Did you encounter any resistance? Did anyone seem concerned that I'm missing?” She nibbles her bottom lip, and he can sense the hurt.

His previous smile falters. “Samson is locked in the Toftlund dungeon. He already had a mistress in your chambers.”

Duke Samson Manchineel will not escape Toftlund alive. Whoever falls the blade that ends his fate will ensure he dies horrifically.

“Joetta and the other servants missed you. She wants me to return you to Timber.” A reality that will not transpire regardless of their agreement.

Nellie bats at a stray curl untangling from Avina’s winter cap. “And?” She finally looks up at him. “Will you? Return me to Timber.”

He crouches to scratch behind Nellie’s ear yet leaves her question unanswered.

“I did not take you one for warrior training.” He changes the subject as he collects the wooden swords and sets them on the deck.

“Thora’s idea. We train twice a day. In exchange, she allows me to teach her chess.” Her pride is rather adorable.

She stands and gestures for him to join her inside. “I shall put the kettle on for a cup of tea.”

He follows her inside, fighting a grin as he responds, “I would enjoy a cup of tea with you, my little Queen.”

He longs to bind her to his bed and forbid her from ever leaving Blackwood. In such a short time, her smile and bright eyes have come to represent the calm sea to his raging storm—a light in the darkness beckoning him home after a grueling season abroad.

Imagining his future without her at his side is a torturous experiment in futility.

Nellie perches on her shoulder, her wide green eyes drinking in Blackwood's new surroundings with uncertainty and unamusement.

Avina leads their way into his kitchen, far more spotless than when he left. Loose vegetables are stowed in wooden crates with labels painted onto their sides. Not a utensil is out of place. Shit, even the wood is stacked neatly beside the hearth.

She hangs the ceramic teapot on the fire's iron hook before assembling a delicious-looking tea service with biscuits, jam, and cream .

He could grow accustomed to this treatment.

“Did you organize? My kitchen looks clean.” He collapses in his armchair by the fire and watches the cat chase a mouse in the woodpile.

“Oh, well, yes, a bit. Your house needed tending to without proper staff.” She prepares their teacups on the tray.

“It was not that bad,” he mumbles, although the sheer amount of scrubbing she must have accomplished is impressive.

Avina would make a lovely maid, bowing and scraping at my feet while she scrubs my floors and warms my cock…

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her shed the wolf fur cloak, scarf, and cap, leaving her in trousers and a long-sleeved vibrant blue shirt cut loose with knots in the Salt Style. She shakes out her golden curls so it falls just short of her waist. The motion entices his hardening gaze to her round ass.

“Samson already had a woman in my chambers, then?”

“Grim and I will take care of him.” Straight to his fucking grave.

She shakes her head, her arms wrapping around her chest.

Nellie halts her torture of the mouse and redirects course to Avina’s feet, where she rubs and purrs.

“I am not bothered that he has a mistress in my bed.”

Shamelessly, Sigvid stares as her arms tighten under her breasts, pushing them higher. When those bright blues lift to meet his, he feels his damn cock twitch at the thought of choking her on it.

“Like most others who spoke to me with such contempt, I always wondered if anyone would ever care for me.” Those blue eyes begin to well, and Sigvid’s hands fist at the sight. “What about me is so unloveable?” She seems to ask no one in particular. “Do you think someone might see me for more than my title one day?”

With complete disregard for his plots of vengeance—which falter by the day—toward this woman, he enfolds her in his arms, relishing her warmth and scent.

You are so much more than your title.

His fingers stroke her cheek, “Avina-”

The kettle screams, causing them both to leap apart. Nellie dives behind their feet, hissing at the whistling pot.

Sigvid removes the kettle off the hook and sits it on the worn wooden counter.

What the fuck was that? Did I just give her a fucking hug? What was I prepared to say to Queen Avina? Who am I becoming?

A flushed Avina returns Nellie to her shoulder while she fills each teacup to steep. Already, the herbal fragrance wafts through the kitchen.

“I imagine you are exhausted. I can take this to your room.” She clutches the tray handles.

Steam from his cup drifts up to Nellie, who takes one sniff of the peppermint tea and sticks out her tongue.

“No.” I want to speak more with you. “Here is acceptable.” He grabs the tray from her grip and returns it to the counter. “Do you not like peppermint tea?”

Her cheeks warm to a light pink while she adds a spoonful of honey to her cup. “Not even a little. I prefer cinnamon and honey.”

He smirks while sipping his drink, enjoying the warming of his bones.

Do I have a stockpile of peppermint, or did she somehow know I prefer that flavor?

Nellie leaps from her shoulder to the counter and then the stone floor, where she shimmies under a cabinet.

“What you did for Nellie,” her beautiful orbs fall to the tiny furball playing hide-and-seek with a dust bunny. “I am eternally grateful to you, Sigvid. Enough that I decided not to lace your tea with poison. Because I do know peppermint is your favorite.”

He pauses mid-sip to pull the cup away. “Well, that is reassuring that it is not poisoned.”

To think she has enemies who underestimate her.

He returns to his seat by the fire with his cup. “Of course, the Hound Master had to die for his atrocities. And Samson will pay for his crimes soon enough.”

Sigvid takes such a low bow that his nose brushes the floor, and his thick russet braid thuds against the stone—Nellie darts from underneath his chair to attack his hair with a furry vengeance.

“Shoo, Nellie.” She removes the tip of his braid from the ground and places it against his chest. Her fingers tickle down his armor plate until they linger on his thigh. His cock responds in earnest to the feeling of her body nestled between his legs.

Before she can escape, Sigvid seizes her waist in his firm grip, stroking her soft sides with his thumbs. She leans into his touch, her hands tighten just below his straining cock.

On the road to Scarwood, he imagined all of the possible torments he would subject her body to when he returned home. Tossing all of his previous thoughts aside, he pulls her onto his lap by her perfect ass, twisting her trouser-clad legs to wrap around him and the chair.

Several heightened breaths pass between Sigvid and Avina. Their eyes lock briefly before their passions collide, and their lips meet in a fiery kiss of clacking teeth and fighting tongues. All for a chance at a taste they have each secretly longed for since their stolen moment in the Sapphire Palace.

She settles deeper into his lap, arousing a low groan from Sigvid as his need to sink into her again reaches a feverish pitch. With a moan, her soft fingers weave into his braid, tugging at the base of his head. Her erotic touch ignites a burning desire in the most savage recesses of his animalistic side—a barbaric urge to possess every piece of this woman.

The back of her cotton tunic rips beneath his hungry touch, giving way to her soft skin. Cries emanate from her swollen lips as he tears her skin apart. The sadistic beast within him awakens at her whimpers, and his teeth devour the column of her soft neck.

Her scent is a damn drug I can overdose on and still not be satiated .

His hand slips into her pants and then undergarments to cup the warm apex between her legs. He groans to find her dripping for him.

Fuck yes!

Sigvid drives two fingers inside her cunt, evoking heavy fucking moans that sear his skin with a wild heat. Primal noises tumble out of her filthy mouth as her hips gyrate over his member with a building intensity.

I want to watch her irises darken as she cums on my fucking cock.

“Uncle Sig?”

Avina and Sigvid fly apart to find Thora standing at the kitchen entrance. Her hands clutch together as she rocks back and forth on her heels.

“I hope I am not interrupting.” She tilts her head with a devious expression that is not unlike his.

Avina’s back presses flat against the counter’s edge while Sigvid makes an effort to discreetly rub down his member, which now painfully aches for his little Queen.

“No.” Avina’s shaky hands lift her teacup to her lips, only for it to jump from her fingertips and shatter upon the floor, giving Nellie yet another plaything in the kitchen. She hurriedly sweeps up the mess, aided by a determined feline.

“What is it, Thora?” Sigvid joins his pseudo-niece in the doorway leading upstairs. The young girl is undergoing a breathing exercise of some form, something wildly outside of her usual mannerisms.

He wonders if Avina taught her that.

She plops down in the same chair where he and Avina were about to consummate their passion.

“Uncle Sig, I wasn’t entirely truthful when you asked about Sven.”

That is unexpected .

Avina cleans up the mess and then leans against the counter. Her attentive expression makes him wonder if they have discussed this.

“Avina, get her a cup of tea.”

Yes, the order is rough and demanding, but he must distance himself from this damn woman. Like the rockslide on the mountain, his unsteady emotions for her have become untethered, dangerous, and consistently catching him off guard before threatening to rip him over the edge.

“Hey, kid, what's going on?” He crouches beside her chair. “What do you need to tell me about Sven?”

She clears her throat. “I-I, please don’t be upset with me, Uncle Sig. I should have told someone straight away.” She accepts Avina's cup of tea. “Thanks.” The teacup rattles along the saucer as she sets it in her lap.

Is she afraid? “Just tell me what has happened.”

She closes her eyes and then opens them to meet Avina’s gaze, who nods encouragingly.

“After they captured you and the Drengr returned home Sven, Lod, and I were planning to rescue you from Scarwood. A rumor circulated the streets that someone in Salt ordered you sold to the Arena.”

She takes a deep breath, and then he realizes she is shivering.

“Sven overheard something in the longhouse one night and went on a bloody rampage, beating the shit out of couriers searching for answers. And then a note arrived from the Ridge addressed to King Thrain that said, ‘We have him, it’s your decision.’ Sven became enraged.”

The note! Avina found it in a drawer of Thrain’s desk. Fuck that asshole and his meddling. But who in the Ridge would have any sway over Timber dealings?

“He plotted for weeks. I begged him not to go alone,” Thora continues, “to tell Kar. But it all ended in a terrible argument with his father before Sven stormed out of his home for Thrain’s.”

The teacup dances along the saucer with such ferocity that he takes them from her grip and sets them on an unopened barrel of mead.

“I followed him out of sight, Uncle Sig, straight into Thrain’s grasp. They argued, and he accused Thrain of selling you to the Arena. And… and…and…Thrain admitted it! Sven was imprisoned secretly for weeks. I couldn’t find him, no matter how hard I tried or who I told. I watched Thrain’s old Second marching him up Mount Fjell one night. I couldn’t leave him alone. So I trailed them. I watched his Second split Sven’s head open and toss his body in the river.”

Her wild, dark curls fall like a veil around her face. “What kind of Drengr am I? I couldn’t stop his death. And then I couldn’t leave Sven’s body in the river, so I sat on the mountain for two days until I saw Thrain appear, and I was terrified.” She spits the final word as if it is wrong to feel fear. “I should have waited, but I remembered Reef and Nautilus needed me more.”

Sigvid has his hand on Thora’s shoulder, his mouth slightly ajar. “Kid, you sat for two days with his body breaking down in the river?” He shakes his head. “You are brave to have followed them up there.” He grinds his teeth, thinking of his brother and the terror he has caused the people closest to him. “I will deal with Thrain.”

“Oh, no, please, Uncle Sig. If you confront Thrain, he might know what I have done. He will order me killed!”

“Thora, we talked about that.” Avina interrupts them. “Sigvid will ensure no harm comes to you. You were brave to tell him. A proper Drengr, a Drengr worthy of Sigvid.”

Thora beams.

Avina has been dragging him through this fucking emotional turmoil of thawing his icy heart since he drew her body from the depths of that frozen lake. Every godsforsaken action she takes drowns him deeper into her soul. Removing Sven’s remains, caring for Thora, saving his ass from the Ulv, that fucking cat. Dammit, she is one decent act away from him admitting she is probably a good Queen.

“She is right, Killer. I think it is time I trained you properly.”

Since Steinbjorn adopted Thora, he, Sigvid, and Slode took her under their wing and unanimously denied her the right to become a Drengr. Shieldmaidens are as fierce, if not deadlier, than many men. However, rearing a child meant the ferocious Drengr all went fucking soft for the little girl. When she sliced off two of Steinbjorn's toes when she was six, Sigvid should have relinquished his rules.

Dammit, she has earned the right to start on the path. And Steinbjorn would have agreed.

“How do you feel, Thora?” Avina asks.

“As if a weight has lifted from my shoulders, Aunt V.” Before Sigvid can step out of earshot, he hears Thora whisper to Avina, “Thanks for convincing me to talk to him. Maybe I can sleep tonight without seeing Sven’s body in the water.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Avina hug Thora.

“Do you want to finish our sparring session? I would be honored to be trained by a future Drengr.” Avina prompts Thora, who jumps to her feet.

“I thought you would never ask.” She runs upstairs. He can hear the back door open and close.

“Avina, wait.” He catches her wrist before she can follow.

“Yes?” Her lovely pink lips tug at the corners of her mouth.

“You seem in high spirits.” His tone is light and pleasant, unlike his usual gruff timbre.

A sadness he cannot understand perpetually clings to her sweetness. He suspects the past, perhaps even a dark realm of her mind haunts her.

She shifts her weight between her boots without looking at him. “Is happiness a crime?” She whispers.

“I did not expect you to tend to my animals or Thora while I was away. I am half-shocked to find you still here.”

Not that she would have had a chance to run. Calder watched Blackwood the last week while ordered to tend the farm and ensure a particular Queen did not flee. Judging by his kitchen, Avina managed everything. Between Helga, Kar, and Ingirid, he had someone she was familiar with stop by several times a day.

“Caring for the farm brings me joy, especially cuddles with the hounds,” she mutters.

He grins as he feels the same way.

When I trapped this woman in my clutches, I had no idea the depth of her heart. And I will destroy anyone who ever dimmed her light.

“The creatures have a way of quieting my simmering rage, much like you do.” He licks her lips, inducing a tremble in her. “I will not keep you from Thora.”

Begrudgingly, he releases his touch, allowing her to toss him a grin before following Thora outside.

Sigvid returns to his chair and lights his pipe with a rare smile.

November 21st, Year 100 9th Era

Toftlund City, Salt Province

S igvid adjusts his forearm bracers while leaning against the rope fence of the Toftlund City indoor sparring ring. Living in Salt means there is no shortage of locations to beat the shit out of your friend or asshole brother.

Sweat drips down his tattooed bare chest from the pummeling he delivered to poor Slode, who sits icing his left knee. His closest friend is not the intended target of his frustration this morning.

One of the doors to the street opens, and Thrain enters, surrounded by a blizzard .

“Brother.” He opens his arms wide, still covered mostly in snow. “Are we still solving the problems of the province with violence?”

From the viewing seats, he can hear Slode scoff.

Sigvid slams his fist against his palm, “how else would we accomplish anything without hurting each other?”

Thrain casts off his clothing until he matches Sigvid muscle for muscle and ink for ink. “What is this about, Sig?” He jumps beside him with snowflakes still lingering in his chestnut hair bound at the nape of his neck.

Except for Slode, the brothers are entirely alone.

“Where is Queen Avina?” Thrain glances around as if expecting her golden curls to materialize. “I am confident she is a gorgeous sight to see this early in the morning.”

He is baiting me. “Mention her again, and I will ensure you need a Healer after this session.”

His warning only leaves Thrain snorting.

“Hey!” Sigvid widens his arms at his sides, “are you stretched and ready? I do not want an easy win because your leg cramped up again.” He jumps up and down to keep up his heart rate.

Thrain throws his head back, cackling. “Let’s go, old man. I have a Province to rule over.”

“Old man? Really? I am barely a year older.”

He swings his fist toward Thrain’s stomach, connecting with the rigid indents of his muscle. “I need a good workout, but I would hate messing up your pretty hair.”

“Strong hit.” Thrain strains, clutching his abdomen. “No berserking in this match. I would hate an unfair fight.”

“I do not need my seidr to defeat you.”

“Sure you don’t.” Thrain grins as he throws a jab, catching his side, then lands a punch on his face.

Sigvid stumbles back only to kick his shin.

“Cunt!” Thrain swears as he hops, clutching his leg.

Sigvid kicks him in the gut, forcing him to fall back into the rope fence.

“You know,” Thrain smirks, “The Queen has spent a fair bit of time in Blackwood. Maybe she can sleep with me when your little deal is over? Share her and see if she prefers riding a real King for a change.”

Sigvid’s eyes flash red, the berserker power threatening to unleash on his brother.

No, not now. The time will come .

He blocks the incoming punch, grabs his wrist, then hair, and slams his brother to the floor.

Thrain takes a deep breath and rolls out of his grip, leaving hair in his hand. In retaliation, he elbows his nose, sending him stumbling into the barricade.

Thrain jumps to his feet and charges him with a fury of fists. He blocks most of them but still takes a few hits. An unnerving thought comes to him.

That Thrain may be able to best him in combat.

He lands a few blows, then catches his brother off guard with an uppercut.He takes advantage of Thrain’s momentary pause. “I know it was you who ordered Sven’s death,” he thunders.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

He lunges, but Thrain catches his arm, pulls him in, and smashes his nose with his forehead.

Neither brother relinquishes the fight despite the bloody fists thrown across the ring.

Thrain nicks him in the jaw, knocking him to his knees. He kicks his chest, laying him flat on his back. He then slams his knee into Sigvid’s chest with all his weight and leans down to his face.

“Your little Drengr in training had his nose where he shouldn’t have.”

The Drengr army is a sore spot for Thrain since Sigvid initiated their conception ten winters ago with his warriors. Especially since Sigvid also controlled the entire Salt Army. Regardless, Thrain’s actions are inexcusable as the fucking King of the Province.

Thrain pushes harder into his chest and lands a blow to his face.

“You can play pretend with your little plaything, Sigvid. But I have worked too hard for too long for you to fuck everything up.” He growls, spitting in his face.

Sigvid manages to slam his fist into Thrain’s crotch, teetering him off balance. He sits up, spitting blood while Thrain is gasping, holding his bruised member between his legs.

What the fuck does he mean by that?

He makes attempts to stand, yet, the repeated hits to his head make him unsteady, and he falls on his ass.

Thrain makes it to his feet but remains bent over. “I’m surprised you are smart enough to figure out my role with that boy, brother.” He stands to his full height, kicking Sigvid in the chest once more and wrenching the air out of his lungs.

Sigvid rolls on the cold slated floor, spitting out blood and attempting to breathe, “I will… make…you pay.”

“You can’t touch me, brother.” He chuckles, “I own this fucking city.” He tugs his tunic back over his bloodied chest.

Entitled bitch. Enjoy this now because I will rip out your heart the next time we meet in the ring.

The door to the sparring arena swings open, and a gust of wind carries a messenger boy inside.

“Here- here is a lett-letter for bo-both of you, my l-lords.” He shivers from the cold.

Thrain tosses a couple of coins to the boy, sending him on his way. “I guess I can’t kill you right now, brother. Read this.” He thrusts Sigvid a letter from Sjoby.

Sigvid scans over the familiar slanted writing. “Fuck, did you know about this?”

“It’s coming back to me.” Thrain rakes his hand over his face. “I’ll host the evening meal tomorrow and take her for the second half of the stay like usual. I have to get shit together.” He finishes dressing and then heads back into the snowstorm.

“He kicked your fucking ass.” Slode pipes up from his corner, where he remains stretched over three chairs.

“Fuck off, Slode,” Sigvid struggles to stand.

“What was that bit with the letter?” Slode gestures to Sigvid’s discarded parchment lying on the floorboards.

“My mother is coming.”