Page 14 of Rune

My focus went into moving. I rolled to the side. I darted beyond his reach. I kept my feet in constant motion and never stayed in one place too long. When I’d drawn his attention closer to the pine tree at my side, I dove into the dense cover.

“Coward,” he shouted. He swung anyway, letting his branch knock loudly against those in front of me. One of them snapped.

I grabbed hold and ripped it off. “Thank you,” I said, now armed again.

He roared in anger. I’d seen Trig fight, and he always got to this point where he was nothing but anger and ferocity. It made his movements sharp but less precise. He’d swing, but if I stayed quick, he wouldn’t hit me.

I lunged from beneath the canopy and sliced my branch forward. He cut his upward. Mine tilted, and I let the opposing side jab at his unguarded stomach. He grunted as it impacted.

Something flashed in his eye, almost like fear.

Before I had time to dwell on that, he dropped his branch and threw himself at me, grabbing hold of my weapon with both hands and barreling me into the ground. Sticks dug into my back. My head slammed against something hard. My fingers tightened, but they were no match for his strength as he ripped the branch away and threw it into the trees.

He stayed on top of me, pinning me as I thrashed.

“Relent.” His warm breath washed over me. His face was inches from mine.

I narrowed my eyes. “No.” I jabbed with my knee. It must have hurt, but he hardly winced.

“Relent,” he said again, this time strained.

I jabbed again.

This time he grunted, but still didn’t move.

“Give up, Rune. It’s over.”

He looked at me with such intensity that I stilled. There was a pleading in his eye, like he didn’t want to hurt me any further, but he would. For his place as chieftain of the Fjord Clan, he’d do anything, including hurt me.

I once thought it was him and me against the world. I was wrong. The world was not kind to people like me.

“I relent,” I whispered, every syllable tearing at the seams of my heart.

He stayed there for a moment, his weight against mine, and his lips close to my own.

I turned my face away, and I felt him stand.

The night was silent as I dusted myself off, fetched my axe, and reclipped it to my back.

He stayed in the clearing with a broken look on his face. “I would have married you, you know? If there had been a way.”

My mouth formed a thin line. The fight inside me was dying. “You had a choice, and you made it.”

His expression split, and he looked away. When he spoke, his voice was cracked. “It’s too late now. Besides,Faðirwants to see Tova married so she can’t be one of the maidens picked by the gods in the Beckoning.”

I gave a dry laugh. “Tova is chosen by the gods, remember? They wouldn’t take her.”

Only unmarried, young mortals were taken for the Beckoning—a series of combats to the death as a sacrifice to the gods, in return for Odin’s immense blessing upon the clan of the victor. The gods themselves chose the mortals, snatching them from across the northern countries as they pleased. But the gods wouldn’t have marked Tova just to take her away.

“Still,” he said. “We want to be certain.”

“That sounds like a wonderful reason to marry.” I pushed past him, and this time he let me go.

“I’m sorry,” Trig said behind my back.

I stood still, not turning around. “Just leave me alone.”

“Rune, you’re bleeding.” His hand caught mine now, but I ripped it away.

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