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

43. Avina

43

AVINA

December 13th, Year 100, 9th Era

Toftlund, Salt Province

T he slightest movements ache from the bruises Sigvid littered across her skin as if she were his blank canvas to paint in his sadistic shades of black and blue.

Since her marriage to Thrain was announced, her warrior captor ensured she remembered who truly owned her body.

Night after night, he exerts his explosive fury out on her skin. After leaving her in a fuzzy, altered state of mind, Sigvid would bathe her before gently tucking her into bed. Despite his wrath, he always envelopes her in his hard arms, pulling her to his chest as he kisses her with a delicateness that often has her weeping.

Goddess, I would give anything to tell him the truth. But there are other lives at stake.

Avina takes the bronze knocker to Thrain’s house and lets it fall twice against the worn wood grains of his front door. In her shaky left hand is his summons.

“Good morning, Queen Avina.” One of the young servants she has seen before bows. “King Thrain expects you in his study.”

Avina nods curtly, slipping past and striding down the hallway with her head held high.

“Do you think he understands? Will he back off?” Thrain’s voice stops her at the cracked door of his office. She backs away, pressing her side against the wall to listen. The situation is eerily reminiscent of her childhood years eavesdropping on her father.

Helga’s voice answers. “He is obsessive, my lord. She is like an interesting artifact he has uncovered. Until he finds something else to occupy himself with, all his focus will be on her.”

“I want him out of the way, Helga. You’ve been spying on him long enough.”

Avina’s hand flies to her mouth to stifle her shock. Helga is Thrain’s spy? Does Sigvid know?

She can hear the scraping of something heavy along smooth wood, footsteps, and the creak of a chair. The image of Helga sitting on Thrain’s lap is almost vivid in her mind.

“What is the harm in him enjoying her before you force your Queen to the altar?”

“You saw them at the gathering. Disgusting. The country must accept our union as amiable, or the damned Drengr and Timber armies will rise against us.” Thrain guzzles something.

Helga chuckles. “Her Majesty knows her place. Sigvid has simply been enjoying his victory toy. You will have no trouble removing her from his bed.”

Silence answers her comment.

Avina can hear her own heart pounding in her ears.

“You said Sigvid abuses her body and tosses her into his dungeon. Night after night, leaving her defeated and in a frenzy to return to Timber. You never said she slept in his bed.” With disdain in his voice, Thrain spits the last word.

“You misunderstand-”

“It all makes sense.” Thrain mumbles almost to himself. “All those times I arrived at Scarwood to court her, only to learn she was at the Arena. Or how she remains attached to his hip every chance she can. Those big eyes looked up at him adoringly that night at the party for Mother.” He growls.

Helga’s shriek and a crash, followed by heavy footsteps, signals he tossed her off of him.

“You led me to believe he was furious with Avina. That my plan succeeded, and he hates her for betraying her fucking ownership marks.” Thrain hisses.

“Your plans do not need to change!” Helga’s voice trembles. “You can still marry the Queen after the Solstice and become-” her voice becomes a garbled mess.

Avina peeks through the door crack to see Thrain’s hand wrapped around her neck.

“I need to keep my brother from raising his fucking army of pledge warriors. Or from triggering Timber into the fray to control Treland.” He releases Helga, leaving her gasping for air. He strides to the map of Treland hung on the wall. “If he thinks in any way I am coercing that woman into this, do you understand what will happen?”

“What is that?” She squeaks.

“War, Helga! Bloody fucking war!”

Avina feels her chest constrict at the thought of losing Sigvid. She stumbles away from the door, her breathing unsteady.

I must go to him!

“Go. Fetch my mother. It is time for her to move to my home for the rest of the Solstice. Not to mention, Avina will be much easier to deal with if I have someone precious under my roof.”

Footsteps move toward the door, but Thrain’s voice stops them. “My special guest is arriving at the Solstice. My plan will succeed.”

Avina can hear kissing noises and feels her lip curl.

“No need to worry, Helga. You will always remain my main mistress. You will carry my bastards.”

“You don’t find ruling Salt enough power? You wouldn’t need anyone else…just me.”

Avina can sense they are right on the other side of the door and dare not breathe.

“Feeling sentimental? You knew what you were signing up for. Go, I am waiting on my Queen.”

She has no time to hide when the door wrenches open, revealing Helga with a knitted brow.

“Your Highness.” She waves her arm inside, where Thrain now sits behind his desk.

Avina steps around Helga when her arm flies out to catch her. “Stay the course,” her whispered, frantic voice says.

Stay the course?

Why would Helga warn her of anything? This sham arrangement will yield no marriage but a forced union to take control of Treland.

“My Queen. I am pleased to see you take your summons seriously.” He drapes his legs atop the desk with a saccharine smile poised over his chiseled features.

“What do you want?” She seethes, imagining how lovely a gilded dagger would look embedded in his neck.

“Now, now, my bride-to-be, no need to look at me with such hatred in those pretty little eyes. Don’t make me regret my offer to you. You give me one son, and you can live the remainder of your life alone. I’ve heard you’re quite accustomed to that lifestyle.” His laughter has become the most grating noise her ears have ever heard, like a haunting spirit of her nightmares.

“Say what is on your mind, or I shall leave!” She channels Sigvid’s energy.

“Ah!” Thrain gestures toward something in the hallway. “My good man.”

She feels her stomach leap to her throat. “Father?”

King Ceowald of the Ridge stands in the doorway bearing a wide smile she knows is not for her.

“It has been a long time coming, but we are on the correct course.” Thrain beams up at Ceowald. His excitement is similar to a beggar receiving food or a child finally indulging in a sweet.

“What is going on?” She steps backward, her back connecting with the wall.

Ceowald slaps her across the cheek before she can register his action. She clutches her stinging cheek as she slides away from him.

“Sigvid Thordsson has been off-limits to you. And now I hear you are his whore.” He inhales deeply before continuing, “I knew you would be difficult to raise. A woman, a Redwood, looking so much like your harlot of a mother.”

“What are you saying?”

Ceowald removes his traveling cloak and lays it across Thrain’s desk. “I only need you for your womb. I need you to produce a good male heir for Thrain. One that the brilliant, stronger men around you can raise into a powerful King.”

“I still do not understand why you must discuss this with me now. Thrain and I are not even married, nor have we laid together.”

Thrain plucks imaginary lint from his vest. “All of Toftlund knows my brother has developed a soft spot for you. He is hardly subtle. Yet, I find the audacity of his behavior unsettling for my future reign. He plows into you like a common harlot. Even if your virtue means little to my goals.”

“You said if I agreed to marry you, I could have these final days with Sigvid.” Two weeks ago, she arrived at Thrain’s home to tell him diplomatically that she will never accept his hand in marriage. She confessed her feelings regarding Sigvid even if Thrain, and apparently her father, have other plans.

Ceowald grasps her shoulders and shakes her so hard her head lashes forward and backward. “You are to provide an heir with Thrain, not with Sigvid!”

“I did agree with your seemingly benign request, Avina.” Thrain interrupts. “But after we announced the union of Treland to the Salt people, my dear brother fucked you in an empty tavern!”

Ceowald releases her, and they both back her into a corner.

“How did you know that?” She spits.

Thrain turns on her, swiftly and furious. “I have little birds everywhere, sweetheart. Get used to it!”

She does not cower, refusing to give him satisfaction. All she yearns for is to return to her Sigvid, to feel his arms around her body and know he is safe and alive.

“Let me make this perfectly plain to you. That,” Thrain points to her stomach, “belongs to me now. If Sigvid pumps you with enough seed that something catches, and you carry his welp, know this: I will beat you senseless. I will beat the child’s life out of your womb.” Thrain brushes his fingertips along her jawline.”

“I know last we spoke, I threatened the life of that crazy servant girl who my brother thinks he can raise into a proper woman. Be advised her life is still in grave danger should you cross me, Avina. But I know my brother is careful, and his damned Drengr will protect Steinbjorn’s wretched protege. In her place, until the Solstice, I have another life on the line: my mother.”

“You’re a monster!” She spits.

Thrain backhands her so roughly that she collapses to the ground. Ceowald makes no move to reach out or help his only child.

“What man wouldn’t do everything to become King of Treland? Do you think she’s the first family member I have sacrificed to get here? You are a naive, pitiful child. Frida is moving into my house for the remainder of the season, as agreed upon with my brother. But, if you tell him you are anything but agreeable to this match, I will start the killings with Mother. She is far too fond of you anyway.”

“Why? Why do you care how your brother perceives the match? Why allow me to maintain a connection with Sigvid at all?” She demands, pushing herself to her feet as angry tears brim in her eyes. She will fight Thrain before allowing him to take her from Sigvid. She can not understand Thrain’s desperate need for the match to appear unified.

Thrain catches her chin, pulling her until his hot breath accosts her like a heavy cloud. “Because he commands the fucking army. And he has two hundred weapons pledged loyalty to him. And because, for some unholy reason, he cares for you.” He scoffs as if affection for her is a far-fetched concept. “Enough of this! I would wager that he would take me to war over you. Have no doubt I will have him slain before axes cross.”

Sigvid would go to war for me?

Her knees tremble at the thought of him in full battle armor charging the front to save her from Thrain's custody. Her mind hums and the world teeters under her feet.

Sigvid would go to war for me…

Rendel used to berate her for her unflattering appearance and tell her she was not worthy of being a Queen. Her father barely acknowledged her existence. No one seemed to notice Avina unless they needed to use her bloodline.

Everyone, that is, except Sigvid Thordsson.

Sigvid would go to war for me…

He cares for her enough to risk his life to keep her safe and protect her from harm.

Thrain releases his grasp rather roughly. “Get out of my sight.”

Avina does not need them to tell her twice, so she flees his home. She heads for the safety of the bustling Toftlund streets.

Since the announced engagement, Sigvid spent much of his days training new Drengr. He kept his promise to Thora and included the young girl in his practice. While she has grown close to Avina during her stay, she is now clipped and distant. It would seem Sigvid’s dour demeanor extended to his neice as well.

Sobs wreak her body as she trudges through the muddy streets. After some distance, she collapses into an alley atop a crate.

If I tell Sigvid the truth about the engagement, Thrain will kill him. If I keep this from him, then he will hate me forever. Salt needs him to be Prince Sigvid more than I need him to be my warrior.

She sits silently until the sun reaches the sky's peak, shining down through the darkened alleyway. When her mind can no longer process any more options for handling Thrain and her father, she clutches the edges of the crate, staring unblinkingly at the dirty ground.

Returning to Blackwood means confronting an empty, unwelcome inn. Grim stays in the same wing as Thora, even if he is often away. Frida is in the process of moving to Thrain’s house, leaving Avina entirely alone.

Considering her situation with Thrain, she wants nothing more than to bury herself in a hole and hide. Almost identical to the feelings that haunted her younger self in the Sapphire Palace. Only now, there is no future to look toward. No knight in shining armor to break down the doors of Thrain’s home and steal her away. Not unless she wants the knight to suffer a terrible fate.

She resigns to abandoning her solitude for the city streets. She muses as she passes the colorful storefronts promoting a range of products, from exotic fruits and vegetables of the islands to luxurious Pradacian gowns.

The Toftlund Meadery does halt her steps.

Between she, Frida, and Sigvid, much of the Blackwood supply of mead and wine depleted significantly. Also, she is confident Frida left with several bottles, leaving Blackwood empty for the winter. Had Thrain not complicated matters between them, Sigvid would have likely offered to purchase more for Avina.

She jingles the leather pouch of coins he gave her a week ago to buy items in town. It is an honest mistake that she didn’t return the excessive. She decides her need to be intoxicated and forget about her lonely, miserable existence far outweighed the might of Sigvid being angry over a few coins.

After donning her hood, she pushes through the doors of the meadery to find it shoulder to shoulder. Staying in the back, she fiddles with her pack of gold, wondering if she can purchase more than one bottle.

“This new recipe has been brewed with local snowberries.” The meadery worker exclaims to the thick crowd lining up to the counter. “Beautiful honey leads the way with a strong aftertaste of our local sweet fruit.”

She peers around for a clear spot at the bar. She isn’t picky about her drinks as long as they are sweet and abundant. With her hood up, she glances back to the front door, where she sees Thora enter with a slightly older boy who looks like a younger version of Kar with fair hair braided at his temples. The duo slip through the crowd, careful not to draw attention to themselves.

That must be the infamous Lod Karsson. You two look as thick as thieves.

Avina twirls a curl under her hood, watching the suspicious duo as they slip deeper into the throng.

Lod stands at the opposite end of the bar, glancing around the room sheepishly while Thora rolls along the floor behind the bar.

Oh, my Goddess. Are they attempting to steal a bottle of mead in the most obvious way possible? This cannot be happening. Her palm slaps her forehead. Lod, you must blend in more. You will give away Thora! I would have just bought them a bottle at this point.

The older man behind the bar stumbles and then topples over. “Hey! What are you doing back here? Get out, thief!”

Thora’s wild curls pop up, and she rushes to the door. Yet, as she and her partner in crime reach the exit, the man talking to the crowd steps in their way.

“What do we have here?” He sets his hands on his waist. “A couple of young miscreants? You two are in huge trouble.”

Avina throws back her hood and stands as tall as possible before the meadery worker. “I apologize, my good man.”

He squints as if struggling to see her properly.

He recognizes me but cannot remember I am Queen Avina.

“This is Prince Sigvid’s daughter.” She places a hand on Thora’s shoulder, tightening her grip to signal her not to run. “If you remember, our Dowager Queen Frida is in town, and he must have ordered her to grab another bottle. Is that right, child?”

She directs her question to Thora with a firm squeeze to her shoulder. Even Lod steps semi-behind Avina.

Thora nods, “Yes, ma’am, Unc-Father asked me to get more mead, and I misunderstood what he meant by ‘grab another bottle.’” Her fabricated guilty gaze drops to the floor while she rocks on her heels, attempting to look as innocent as possible.

The meadery worker slumps. “Of course, I apologize for being cross. Today has been busier than usual with the release of our new batch.”

“Here,” Avina hands him enough coins for three bottles and his trouble. “Thora, dear, you and Lod grab three bottles for our Prince.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” The worker smirks and pockets the gold while Lod and Thora dash back to the counter for more mead.

The children shuffle outside without looking at Avina who follows with a heavy sigh.

“Next time, make any attempt not to be obvious.” She gives them both a stern look as she removes Lod’s bottle from his clutches.

Lod nods and leaves a dejected Thora and an exhausted Avina on the street.

“Care to escort me home, Thora? I find Blackwood quite lonely lately.” Avina walks down the street, counting down from five.

When she reaches one, she hears Thora loudly exhale and then the patter of her steps when she catches up.

“Fine.” She refuses to look at Avina. Her lips form a terse, thin line.

Silence lapses the space between them while they wind their way out of the city. Avina is hurt to know Thora feels such fevered animosity over her faux engagement. There is no way to explain to the girl that her King will remove her head should Avina cause trouble for him.

Thora clears her throat only when they step onto the dirt path winding through the trees to Blackwood. “Why?”

Avina sighs, knowing what she means. “Why what, Thora?”

“Why are you marrying Thrain? You know this is fucked up. You are supposed to marry Uncle Sig. How can you do this to him?” She stops to glower at Avina. A fiery defiance flashes in her bright green eyes.

“Or to me?” Thora waves her hands around as she talks, just like Sigvid does.

Avina bites down on her lip to keep from chuckling at the scene despite her heartbreak. If only the young girl knew the truth. And if only Sigvid could witness this miniature version of himself.

The phrase ‘blood is thicker than water’ seems like a load of horse shit when this daughter of servants, raised partially by Sigvid, bears so much resemblance and loyalty to him.

“My dear,” She sighs, tilting her head to the side, “Sigvid is all I have ever wanted. But,” she holds up a hand to stop the retort forming on Thora’s lips, “I fear I ended up in a position that I will never be able to escape.”

“If Uncle Sig is all you wanted, then you should be marrying him, not his fucking brother. You can’t marry Thrain.”

“Please understand, I l-like Sigvid. More than Thrain, more than any other man in Treland. Thrain he- he… I don’t have a choice.”

Thora searches her eyes. “So Thrain is forcing you into this? Why? Who do I have to hurt to get you out of this? Don’t forget what you told me about handling the situation with Sven. ‘I will feel better if I talk to Sig.’”

Thanks for throwing my own words back in my face, Thora.

Everything is spiraling out of control.

“This is complicated, and you do not need to worry or tell anyone.” She gives her a pleading look. “Besides, I never said he coerced me.”

“You said Thrain didn’t give you a choice, so he is coercing you.”

Avina sighs, twisting a loose curl around her pointer finger. “I have said far too much.”

“Too much? Explain, Aunt V. I swear I won’t tell anyone. I want to help.” Her voice becomes more excited at the thought of holding secret information.

“You already know too much. Ugh, this has gotten out of hand.” Avina paces, twirling her hair in a vain attempt to stem her anxiety to a physical fidget.

“Thrain did not threaten me. He promised violence against those I care about. Thora,” she grasps her upper arm, “I am working on a solution, but please, you must not tell a soul.”

“I won’t tell anyone, but you know you should tell Uncle Sig. He can help you with this. Uncle Sig and his Drengr would kill Thrain. And me, I would help!”

Avina feels a swell of affection toward Thora—another one to add to the short list of her chosen family.

“Hey!” Thora points further along the path to the porch of Blackwood. “Who is that homeless person sitting in Uncle Sig’s chair?” Thora unsheaths a dagger from somewhere on her person, “is it one of Thrain’s men? I’ll stab him through his fucking eye!”

Oh, goddess, is that cousin Bertie?

Bertie’s usual perfectly tousled hair looks unwashed and disheveled. Even his usually freshly tended, colorful attire is rumpled and dirty. He rocks in Sigvid’s sole chair on the deck, clutching a bottle of Salt mead while singing an out-of-tune song about romancing a drauger.

“Bertie?” She stands at the base of the steps. Behind her shoulder Thora snorts comments.

Acting like a drunken fool is uncharacteristic of him. She immediately worries that something has gone seriously awry back in the Ridge.

“Oh good, you know this homeless man?” Slode appears around the corner of the porch. His typical laid-back demeanor scrunches in annoyance. He glares down at Bertie with a puzzling amount of amusement that doesn’t fit his frustrated tone.

“He is my cousin, Duke Bertram Alexandrite. I’m just as baffled as to why he’s on the deck of Blackwood and not in the Sapphire Palace.” Her voice finally registers in Bertie’s mind, and he leaps to his feet, startling Slode.

“Shadow! I knew I'd find you here.” He slurs terribly. Even at his most intoxicated, she has never known him to act like this.

“What happened to you?”

He sways on the edge of the steps, but Slode catches him almost gracefully.

“You smell like cinnamon, Ridge lord.” Slode sniffs his neck like he is sampling a delectable treat.

Bertie brushes away Slode’s long midnight hair with a giggle.

Did he giggle at Slode?

“Aren’t you a charmer?” Bertie taps Slode on the nose with his index finger, and Avina can hear Thora inhale sharply.

Slode is a decent enough fellow, although he is still a battle-hardened Drengr, perhaps the most skilled warrior in Sigvid’s arsenal. Not to mention his oldest friend. One of his deadly inner circle. A boop on the nose is not an action she is prepared to watch him suffer. Avina waits for Slode to react aggressively, but instead, his face softens.

For the love of the Goddess, is Bertie managing to flirt with a Drengr? What broke in this universe?

She sighs loudly enough for the men to refocus on her. “Anyone care to explain?”

Bertie begins sobbing incoherently, which signals Avina to corral them all inside Blackwood. While Thora and Slode light a fire in the hearth, she wraps an arm around her cousin’s shoulders and sits him on the couch.

“Let’s start with why you are in Toftlund.” She coaxes him.

He manages to compose himself enough to speak semi-coherently. “Viktor squandered everything. He gambled away my inheritance and then abandoned me… for a woman!”

Oh, Bertie.

She hugs her cousin, knowing all he needs is her support despite reeking of body odor and sweet alcohol. They will discuss nitty-gritty details tomorrow over tea.

“How did you end up at Blackwood?” She looks between Slode’s shifty form by the fireplace and Bertie, who is trying to sober up.

“That might be my fault.” If anything, Slode looks sheepish. “He was trying to buy a cask of mead from a barmaid while drunk and then started singing.” Is Slode smirking?

Goddess, I’m unsure if I can handle my two lives colliding.

“I stepped in to remove him from the tavern, but he asked for Sigvid.”

“Sigvid?” She narrows her eyes. “You knew I was here, and you asked for Sigvid? My captor?”

Bertie shrugs. “Felt like he might have more pull than you, Shadow.”

“But you are here for me?” At least she has no reason to think he wants to meet Sigvid for the first time. And she trusts Sigvid will begrudgingly ensure Bertie’s safety.

This time, her cousin returns her embrace. “I love you, cousin. You’re the only person I knew wouldn’t judge me. And I just needed you.”

She smiles and lays her head on his shoulder. “Of course. You can stay with us until you’re ready.”

A tiny nudge in the back of her head catches the ‘us’ comment and begins parading it around her mind. She had referred to Sigvid and her as a collective. She delights in the thought of being the lady of Blackwood, hosting her loved ones and feeding the goats until she grows old.

And then reality strikes like a bolt of lightning through her gut.

Thrain.

Thora is right. Sigvid can help, but who knows how many spies that despicable man has in Sigvid’s ranks? Her only chance is to sort a way out herself. Protect those she has grown fond of from Thrain’s wrath.

Thora tiptoes behind the seats, trying to conceal her bottle of mead within her cloak, but Avina is faster. She snags the bottle and tosses it to Slode.

“Aunt V!” Thora stomps her foot.

“I don’t want to see you drinking until you’re older. See what it will make you do.” She gestures to Bertie, who is on his back on the couch, snoring loudly, having passed out.

Thora cringes. “Fine.” Then, she disappears up the staircase toward her bedroom.

“Where is Sigvid?” Avina grumbles.

Slode sets Thora’s bottle of mead on the table without answering.

She disentangles herself from Bertie and joins him. “Where is Sigvid?” A million thoughts bombard her brain with where he could be or whose company he might keep.

He still chooses to look anywhere else but at her.

“Slode, please! I know he’s ignoring me.” She collapses into one of the wooden chairs surrounding the table, her face buried in her hands.

How has she ended up in a situation that is not her fault, yet she somehow became the villain? Again!

Sigvid will never relinquish his hatred of her even if her marrying Thrain is not of her own free will. All she wants is to keep Sigvid. To protect the man for whom she holds such passion. She would give up her own life for him to remain safe.

He crouches in front of her.

“I watched you at the gathering. Sig has never looked at anyone like that before. Shit, he’s never danced with anyone willingly. He never brought anyone to his bed. Fucked anyone sober…” Slode’s eyebrows begin to furrow as he speaks.

“What are you saying? I’m his special slave.” She snorts.

He shakes his head, putting distance between them. “I’m not getting in trouble for saying shit.”

“Well, you already have, so at least give your words meaning before Sigvid slices you to pieces.”

He tangles his hands in his black mane. “Sigvid doesn’t love. He finds a willing, drunken companion and rails her in the alley of the tavern. She doesn’t sleep in his bed, and he sure as fuck doesn’t travel for a week to save her cat.”

He leans against the table as if deciding whether or not to continue.

“Fuck, I didn’t want to talk about this.” He drags a hand over his inked face. “I fucking know why you said ‘yes’ to Thrain. But it doesn’t matter. Sigvid won’t let you go without a fight. And you need to let him know he doesn’t need to feel guilty for finally finding...” He shakes his head, grasping at words.

“Finding what?”

“Someone to give a shit about.”