Page 4 of Rune

He knelt at the mouth of the cave, coercing flames to life with the strike of his flint against steel. He was trying to stay quiet, so it took longer to spark, but once it did, the dried leaves caught quickly. He set sticks over top to keep the flame burning.

I reached the cave before he looked up. He grinned. “Right on time.”

Trig was the eldest son of Jarl Hakan, and inherited hisfaðir’s broad frame and silvery eyes. His coarse blond hair was from hismóðir, but therest of him—the way his smile pulled to the left and the unbridled energy running through him—that was all his.

My heart fluttered at his presence. I dropped my axe first, letting it clang against the cave’s stone walls. Then my satchel. Here, with Trig, I wasn’t a warrior who needed her shield, I wasn’t a fighter protected by armor. Layer by layer stripped back until I was only Rune, second daughter to Jakob and Estrid, just a girl who was in love with a boy.

His arms were outstretched, and I folded myself into them.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered into my hair. His voice was like running water, a refreshing sound after a long day, and I could listen to him for eternity. I buried my face into the coarse fibers of his wolfskin coat and breathed deep. Then I breathed again. He always smelled of chestnuts after helping hismóðirmake soap, and I’d grown quite fond of that scent.

I clung to him tightly, the one good thing life had given me.

“I spoke toMóðirabout you.” Trig pulled his head back to see mine, and brushed away strands of my dark hair. “She toldFaðirabout it, I’m sure of it.”

I struggled to keep my smile from dipping. If she had told hisfaðir, hisfaðirhad made no note of it when he saw me tonight. Either he didn’t know I was the girl his son cared for, or he didn’t care enough to look at me for more than a few seconds.

The possibility of it being the latter was high. None in the Fjord Clan would have paired me with Jarl Hakan’s son, and if they knew, none would guess I’d hold his attention long. It was all just a guess though. Trig had asked we keep the relationship quiet for a time, and now hismóðirwas the first to know of it. Not even Tova knew. “What did she say when you told her?”

It was the barest hesitation, but I caught it. “She’s happy to see me happy.”

I didn’t want to press to find out what she actually said.

After studying my face, he frowned. “DidFaðirsay anything?”

I tried to look optimistic, but I ducked my head. “He didn’t have to. His face said everything.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Trig said. I refocused on him. He wore the goofy lopsided grin again that made me think I could conquer the world if only he would keep smiling.

But hisfaðir’sface was drilled into mine—the way his eye passed over me and how he’d frowned as I passed, and my spirits dampened. I removed myself from Trig’s grip to pull the sheepskin from my shoulders and set it before the fire. Without it, the night wind snapped against my neck, finding its way through the tight weave of the linen tunic and pushing me to draw close to the fire. Trig sat beside me, gathering my hand in his. My fingers were thin and bony, much like the rest of me, but they fit in his grip perfectly.

Being here with him, it was hard to worry about anything else. I tightened my hand in his.

“He doesn’t know me well, yet,” I said. “He’ll approve once he does.” It’d only been a month of us sneaking out to meet each other like this, and the thrill of it hadn’t died down. If Aegir came through, it wouldn’t matter what anyone else said about our relationship—this feeling would never fade. Trig and I would build a future side by side.

I turned my eyes upwards to the skies.You are the last one I have hope in,I reminded Aegir.And I am the only one offering you glory in the clan. Don’t let me down.

“Faðirwill approve,” Trig promised. “And I swearMóðirlikes you, so she’ll help convince him.”

I hated the way that sounded, as if we’d need an army to convince Jarl Hakan I was worth his son’s time.

The truth was, we didn’t need his approval. Trig could spend time with whoever he wanted, and so could I. But Trig was set to be the next chieftain, and hisfaðirhad already given Trig permission to challenge him for the position soon, and that meant I’d need the clan’s approval as well if Trig wanted to remain unchallenged during his leadership.

To become chieftain, you must challenge the current one to a fight to the death. They can step down, or they can fight.

Trig’sfaðirchallenged the man before him, who’d only held the position for four years after he’d challenged the chieftain before him. Just as the chieftain before him. For generations, all had chosen to fight. All had failed. Our fjord was stained with the blood of a string of chieftains, all serving for a short time before another took their place as head of the clan. It was not a role easily held.

Until Trig’sfaðir. And I knew the clan was eager to see if Trig would last as long.

He’d need a wife who could sway the hot-headed men from challenging his place and keep him from going mad under the pressure. Yet I could hardly get even one man’s approval.

I snapped a twig in my hand and fed it to the flames.

“Where did this one come from?” Trig asked, pointing to a curved scar on my wrist.

“We need to talk about this.” I pulled my hand away.

“We will,” Trig said. “But I haven’t seen this one.”

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