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

40. Sigvid

40

SIGVID

November 28th, Year 100, 9th Era

Toftlund City, Salt Province

S igvid’s drinking horn cracks from his growing tension at Avina’s absence from the gathering.

Fuck.

He hands off the ale to Slode, who is unbothered at the prospect of double-fisting his alcohol tonight. His closest friend hates gatherings as much as he does. If only Sigvid didn’t need to stay sober to watch over Avina. Not to mention, the last time he drank heartily was the night she got the better of him.

She vanished from the central hearth while he turned his back for a fucking second to pour a horn of ale. Did she use her invisibility to hide? No, he would have seen her.

They each have unique abilities to care for the other one now that she made an unintended sacrifice in the form of Lord Ives and formally accepted her role as Keeper. Even he had to brush up on his lore to comprehend how everything plays a part. As Guardian, he can now see her even when invisible. As Keeper, she can heal his wounds.

Just as he cracks his neck, preparing to tear apart his family home, Thrain flounces from the hallway by the bedrooms with a shit-eating grin on his lips. Sigvid stops him with a palm to his chest, curling his lip at his brother’s embellished attire.

Did he fucking steal this off a Timber lord?

“Where is she?” He keeps his voice low and firm.

Thrain tilts his head. “Queen Avina had questions about a decades-old marriage accord with a Salt Prince. I, of course, explained how plans change with nobility. I must admit my shock at the heartbreak in her eyes when I explained how unenthusiastic you were to wed her during the war.”

How am I still the only one not to know about this? And gods dammit, I wanted to mill her then!

“What have you done?” He growls.

Thrain’s smile widens. “I’ve told you, brother. I have worked too hard for too long to become King of Treland. That woman with two deliciously convenient bloodlines,” he nods to Avina, who sashays out of the hallway and straight to the wine bottles, “is the key to the whole damn country.”

Sigvid punches his brother in the gut, then removes a dagger from his boot and holds the blade to Thrain’s heart, embedding the tip under his skin. “You talk about her like that again. I will slay you here and toss your body on the fire.”

Thrain laughs. “Like what, Sig? You make a great show of giving a shit about her, but all of Treland knows she is nothing but a pussy you will discard when you tire of her.”

“Fuck you, Thrain,” he says with a low growl, placing more pressure on the dagger, which cuts deeper into his skin, trickling crimson blood over his crisp white shirt. “She is more than that, ass!”

Thrain tilts his head to the side.

Is he wearing powder?

“What would that be? You know what I see, brother? I see a fat, golden key I can stuff in a tower once it opens the right doors.”

Chairs sliding against the wooden floors signal the gathering's focus shifts to the brothers' tension. Before anyone can intervene, the front door opens.

“Mother!” Thrain greets her as if Sigvid’s dagger was not just under his skin, staining his tunic and vest.

Everyone shifts to greet Frida, Kar, and Ingirid, leaving Sigvid heaving in the back corner. He watches Avina pounding back her second goblet of wine out of the corner of his eye.

He stuffs his dagger back into his boot while Thrain makes an extensive display of hugging their mother. While the others remain distracted in the entryway, he stalks over to the shockingly set dining table.

When did Thrain give a shit about where people sat? He chuckles to himself while inspecting the slips of parchment bearing each of their names on the plates.

What the shit, Thrain? Why is Avina on your left?

Thrain sat their mother to his right, but instead of his Second, he sat Avina at his side. He glances across from his plate to find Helga’s name.

He grabs Avina’s card, places it opposite him, and moves Helga’s next to Thrain, feeling only slightly guilty for sticking her with his brother.

Briny God willing, it will not be for much longer.

“Are you angry already?” Avina stands by her seat with a goblet of wine clutched in her hand. “You have that furrowed look when you’re angry.” She settles into her chair while the rest of the party continues their conversation at the door.

Her observant remark draws a crooked smile. “Of course I am angry. I am at a party with my brother. But you make it better, my little Queen.”

A cute pink blush brushes over the apples of her cheeks. “Why do you say things like that to me?”

“What things?” He lights his pipe, clenching it tight in his teeth.

She suddenly hesitates, looking away from him and twirling a curl. “That you may enjoy my presence. I thought I was nothing more than your plaything through the Winter Solstice?”

He exhales deeply, casting a cloud of sweet-scented smoke over the set table.

“I told you once you will always get the pleasure and the pain from me, and I mean that. No one else will ever lay a hand on you as long as you are mine.”

And she will always be mine, even if it means locking her away in Blackwood for the rest of her days.

“I meant every damn word I said before we left my home, my little Queen. Never question my actions or my words.”

He leans closer, feeling his chest clench at the sight of that damned doe-eyed expression. His hand curls around her wrist while his thumb brushes her sleeve back, revealing his name carved into her flesh.

“Any other man would have ceased pursuing you last night, with the understanding their life would be forfeit to me had they not.”

“Some facet of me sensed you were the man behind the mask,” she licks her lips and swallows, “yet, the thought of another man inside me.” She shivers as if horrified at the thought.

“That will never happen,” he reassures her despite her gaping. He presses a finger to her lips. “There will be no more discussion of this tonight.”

She nods, although he can tell something still bothers her.

“Did you see Thrain’s puffy sleeves?” Sigvid changes the subject.

She snickers. “You should have brought Samson. They can pretend to fly to the moon together with those wings on the stupid Timber tunics.”

“Fly away, little bitches, fly away.” He puffs smoke rings over her short form, drawing a faint grin on her lips. “And he did not even break out the good sliver. I figured with Mother’s appearance, he would try to impress. Judging by his tunic and tight-ass pants, I think he is in a contest for the most tasteless. If I am not mistaken, he has powder on his cheeks.”

She giggles. “He is not impressing anyone.” Her words held a weightier tone, as if she is attempting to convey something more to him.

She twirls one of her loose curls. The way they cascade down her back tonight gives her the appearance of an afterlife spirit. He wants to bury in her soft hair and inhale until he is drunk off her scent.

She opens her mouth as if wanting to say something but closes it. “Who invited Helga?” She exclaims, almost as a cover for what she wants to ask.

Does she not know she can tell me everything?

“She is part of my inner circle and accompanies me along with Slode and Kar.”

“Did you and she ever…?”

Sigvid raises a single brow. “Speak what you mean.”

“Have you bedded her?” And then she mutters something about Finn.

“No, I have not and have no intention. Although,” he decides if he is to keep Avina around, he must be more truthful, “I caught her amid a passionate embrace with Thrain three winters ago. She had only given her oath five winters before. I feared he corrupted her. You know enough of my brother.”

He nods to the door where Thrain is schmoozing so hard it hurts to watch. “I cannot have it known that one of my sworn Drengr was fucking my spineless brother.”

She sighs into her chair, relief flooding her features.

His foot moves under the table to brush against hers while he watches Thrain’s number two. “I do not think that man has a brain,” they observe as he uses his dagger to pick something between his teeth.

Her foot answers his with the slightest of moments along his lower leg. “Earlier, he picked his nose and flicked it somewhere in this room.” She whispers in time for the group to move toward them.

“Hopefully, it was in Thrain’s chair. Heads up, people are incoming.”

“Avina!” Ingirid wraps an arm around her with a wide smile. “Wonderful to see you, my dear.” Ingirid sits between Frida and a tall woman with insanely long legs on the same side of the table as Avina.

Slode thumps into the chair between Avina and Sigvid at the opposite head of the table from Thrain.

“How’d I get stuck between you two?” He slurs.

“You smell like a barrel of mead.” Sigvid coughs, wondering how much the man drank before the soiree. “Are you saying you would rather sit by Thrain? At least you can be at the enjoyable end of the table.”

Sigvid holds up his mug and clinks it on Avina’s and then Slode’s. They each drink, and he is aware of her beautiful blues, watching him over her goblet.

“Thank you all for coming tonight.” Thrain holds up a goblet with his charming smile full of lies. “Tonight, we celebrate my beautiful mother and the beginning of our Winter Solstice season…”

He goes on to say a load of bullshit Sigvid ignores.

Instead, he watches the stunning creature across from him shred her name tag into tiny pieces.

“What did that bit of paper do to you?” He whispers as he withdraws his pipe and begins packing the bowl.

“He.” Rip. “Wrote.” Rip. “Timber.” Rip. “Queen.”

“But that is your title. What is wrong with that, my little Queen?”

She glowers at him, ignoring Thrain’s speech, which finally comes to a close with polite applause from everyone but Sigvid. The band commences a livelier jig, and servants appear with silver platters of steaming food.

“Do you realize you are the only person who doesn't use my title?” She leans around the man, placing root vegetables in a honey glaze on her plate.

“I don’t use your title.” Slode interrupts, his mouth full of bread.

She shakes her head with a little grin. “Sigvid uses it diminutively.”

“I could always call you my whore. Or would you prefer slut?” Sigvid leans across the table, grinning at the color rising in her cheeks.

Slode stops chewing and looks a little like he wants to be sick.

She pokes at the roasted chicken slices on her plate. “Are you always so charming with women? Or am I just special?”

“Oh, my little one, you are just special.” He nudges her calf with the toe of his boot, making her squeak in surprise.

Come to think of it, she is the only woman whose body I have taken forcibly. She is the only one I have ever wanted to own.

“Do I need to rent you two a room?” Slode leans back in his chair, wielding a chicken wing.

“I think we have enough rooms at my place.” Sigvid winks at her, whose pale features cannot darken another shade of pink.

She drains her goblet and waves down a server for another, wavering slightly on the chair.

Remember last time you imbibed too much, Avina? You ended up in my chains .

“Gunter.” Thrain’s Second extends a hand to Sigvid, whose sole focus is the lightly tipsy Avina drinking her goblet with both hands. “You’re Sigvid, Thrain’s younger brother, right?”

“Older brother.” He snarls.

“I don’t believe I’ve met her before.” Gunter nods toward Avina. “Your wife.”

Thrain is determined to have his Second be someone dumber than him. Each imitation is denser than the last.

Sigvid sighs, quite aware that Slode and Avina's stares are bearing holes into the side of his head. He leans into the man’s ignorant mistake with a wink at her.

“Yes, this is my wife, Lady Avina.”

He glances at her hesitantly, only to find her bubbling with a rare happiness.

Is this enjoyment for the prank or the prospect of living as his Lady? Either way, that smile warms his cold heart.

“Is there any connection to Queen Avina Bloodstone of Timber?” Gunter asks her while Slode snorts into his horn of mead.

Without even a hesitation, she shakes her head. “Only parents with a preference for the name.”

Sigvid swells with pride at her leaning into their facade with such nonchalance.

“Hello, I am Gunter’s wife. Where did you two meet?” His wife turns out to be the leggy woman.

Her thick sing-song accent is not one he has ever heard before. Perhaps it was Steinlund. She looks like a praying mantis with puffy green sleeves and a severe tilt in her neck as if she has spent all her time hunched over.

“A royal ball hosted by a King. He wished to honor the engagement of a cruel man to a sweet princess.” Sigvid stuffs a hunk of meat into his mouth.

If he could turn back time, he would have murdered Rendel that night and stolen his princess to Salt. Damn them all for having put her through that torment.

“Honestly, the second I looked at her, I knew she was different.” He continues. “It took three winters for me to realize I should have courted her every day after our initial meeting.”

He stops abruptly as Slode, Avina, and even Kar on Gunter’s other side pause mid-eating to gape at Sigvid as if he has lost his mind. Slode particularly has that look in his eyes that seems to question his sanity.

Avina drops her fork, diving underneath the table.

“It is so good to find someone who stirs you in such a way.” Gunter’s wife gushes.

When Avina re-emerges into her chair, there is a satisfied smile on her lips and water in his eyes.

My sweet little one, I should have told you how perfect you are every day since you invaded the study in that soaking ballgown.

“Is it true you are from Steinlund, Yri?” Frida’s voice cuts through the chatter like a blunt knife, addressing Gunter’s wife two chairs down. “Steinlunders think they own everything. Hard to imagine you settled for someone from Treland.” His mother’s nose can’t tip further in the air if she tries.

Everyone turns to Yri, who fades in her chair, no doubt mortified the widowed Queen sought to call her out directly.

“I am from the mountainous region, ma’am. All must be tough to withstand the perilous terrain.”

“Clearly. I suspect you carry your household on your shoulders.” Frida nods to Gunter. “I imagine you reach the much sought-after higher places.”

Sigvid, Avina, and Slode shove food in their mouths to prevent them from bursting. Gunter seems not to have noticed the slight, while his wife’s eyes widen in surprise.

Stay in Salt long enough, and Mother is sure to surprise anyone.

“Insulting guests already, Mother?” Thrain smiles, but Sigvid notices his leg shaking under the table.

Frida ignores him.

“Bring any pretty girls home, Slode?”

Food puffs out Slode’s cheeks, and he does not attempt to swallow it. The fiercest warrior to walk this land enjoys the beds of both women and men. Knowledge not many knew about the fearless Drengr.

“If you wish to play a game that tortures us all, at least make it somewhat entertaining.” Sigvid puffs on his pipe with a grin. “Everyone,” he extends his hands, “think of two truths about yourself that those at the table might not know. And one lie.” He turns his head to Thrain with a single raised brow.

“Oh, how fun!” Frida claps her hands together. She loves games, even better if her judgmental glean is welcome.

“Let us draw spoons to start. Whoever pulls the fork goes first.” Yri gathers the unused spoons and one fork from the table, wrapping them in a clean cloth. She offers the handles to the group until…

“Yes!” Avina pulls the fork, signaling she will begin the game. “Hmm? Choosing a lie is more difficult than I anticipated.” She leans against the back of her chair, curling a loose curl around her pointer finger.

“I prefer the company of animals to humans. I used to fantasize about a dashing prince saving me from the Sapphire Palace.” Her cheeks redden, matching the color of her wine. “And I love being a Queen.”

Without a thought, Sigvid knew which is the lie. Below the tabletop, his feet trap hers, forcing her to meet his gaze.

I might not have been able to save you then, but I can shield you now, little one.

“The lie is that you prefer animals to people,” Thrain says from the other end of the table.

She shakes her head to a flutter of laughter from the group, mainly at Thrain’s expense.

“Sigvid and the lot all went to that tree realm to rescue a damned cat for her. It’s not the animal bit.” Kar waves his hand dismissively.

His brother’s scowl suggests he isn’t pleased they left the province without his approval. Sigvid is proud to know he can take actions that still surprise him.

“Her lie is she loves being Queen.” Sigvid tilts his head to the side, watching her reaction as the whole table inhales in shock. “I would like to think that she might finally find enjoyment with the right King.”

She visibly melts in her chair.

“You’re right, brother. Perhaps a King will propose to her soon.” Thrain assesses her with a hungry glint in his stare .

That is it! He is going to force my hand to kill him sooner rather than later.

“Sigvid, dear,” Frida nudges, no doubt attempting to intervene on the brothers, “it is your turn for winning the first round.”

“Married couples shouldn’t be able to guess each other’s lie.” Gunter pouts.

Slode cackles, pounding his fists on the table with tears in his eyes. The other end of the table exchanges confused glances, clearly not in on the trick played on Gunter and Yri.

“I want to kill my brother. I have never loved anyone. And my mother drinks far too much wine.”

Frida scoffs. “I resent all of those, Sig.” She throws back her goblet.

He rubs his forehead. “You just confirmed you drink too much wine.”

“Hmph.” She nods to her empty goblet as the servant girl makes her way from Helga’s cup.

“You wouldn’t kill your brother.” Yri gives a nervous laugh.

“Yes, I would.” He looks to Thrain, who winks back at him.

“Sigvid, has your black heart ever cooled for a woman in your thirty-three winters? My bet is your axes warm your bed when prostitutes run on short supply.” Thrain slaps the table as if that is the final word. “You gave us all truths.”

“No, brother. There is one lie there. Better luck next time.”

“Oh, for the sake of the Briny God!” Helga rolls her eyes. “The lie is that he has never found love.” She gestures down the table at Sigvid, but it almost seems she is gesturing to Avina.

“We have a winner.” Sigvid gestures to Helga even if his gaze never leaves Avina. “You are next.”

“Wait.” Kar cackles over his plate. “Wait. You fucking love something that isn’t violence incarnate?”

“Yes, Kar, I do.” He glances at Avina.

“Alright,” Helga returns the conversation to the game, “My favorite cousin is the youngest Steinlund Princess. I am the youngest Drengr to take the oath. I am right-handed.”

“You are left-handed.” Thrain winks to Helga, who shutters slightly, although she does smile and nod.

“How old were you?” Frida asks, her first innocent line of questioning since she arrived in Toftlund.

“Fifteen. Helga has been a Drengr for eight winters.” Sigvid raises his chin at Helga, who may be one of his most loyal warriors. “Guess it is on to you, Thrain.”

Thrain reclines in his chair with one arm slung over the back. “I possess a Sacred Stone power. I have a good rapport with all the other rulers of Treland. And I do have a special woman.”

Avina raises her hand. “I’m going to say your lie is having a rapport with other rulers of Treland.”

Thrain’s gasp in surprise is fake. “I am wounded, Timber Queen.”

“You have never met my father.” She glosses over how her relationship with Thrain is far from satisfactory.

Thrain’s eyes gleam. “Have I not?”

“You don’t have a special woman,” Slode says, spraying food from his mouth. “I won this one,” he drunkenly slurs, triumphantly leaning back in his chair.

The remaining courses conclude with everyone taking a turn at the game. Finally, Frida announces she wishes to take advantage of the band–which is shockingly decent.

Upbeat music fills the space of the happy crowd, which redirects to the wide-open area in front of the hearth. Gunter somehow manages to spin his wife. Kar appears uneasy in the setting and sways Ingirid rigidly off to the side, nearly down the hallway to the bedrooms. Thrain leads his mother with the elegance she has taught them since they were only five winters old.

Slode leans against a support beam of the house with his arms crossed. Avina hasn’t moved from her chair at the table with her wine, which has painted a perpetual blush over her cheeks.

“May I have this dance, my little Queen?” Sigvid asks.

She hiccups but still settles her soft hand in his calloused grip. He guides her to the dance floor as the band begins a song that is one of his favorites.

“Can you handle a Salt ballad, Timber Queen?” Sigvid asks while they bow to one another.

“My governess taught me all forms of dance in the kingdom. I believe you need to brush up on your skills, Sigvid.” She rests the back of her hand against his.

The strings resonate within his blood, pumping his pulse with the song's rhythm. They step in sync as if they rehearsed the dance for days. He catches her smiling with pure joy on her lips, which only fuels his rare happiness.

He spins her body around, twirling the skirt of her dress until he’s not sure how everyone in the room is not watching her with awe. Like the matter with the Ulv, he has never worked more flawlessly with another person.

He watches her move in tandem with his steps and feels at home with her. Watching her expression, calm and blissful like she is a spirit of the Briny God, is a moment he never wishes to end.

As the final notes of the ballad end, Sigvid holds her in his arms. Their gaze is unblinking in the silence, save the crackling of the fire. He leans toward her luscious lips, which part for him, already sensing what he wants of her.

As he moves in to kiss her, he hears a cough and looks up to find the entire party, including the servants, band, and other guests, watching them intently.

They each take a step away from the other at the same time.

A crash sounds from the wine casks in the corner with Slode. Wine floods the floor, pushing the servants to mop up the mess and forcing the company’s attention to the loss of good drink.

Slode winks at Sigvid, allowing him time to grab Avina, pull her back to his chest, and savor the sweetness of her tongue before the party resumes.