Page 136 of Edge of the Wild

His cousin smiled, humorlessly. “Saint Erik,” he said. “The brave, the just. Therighteous. Lying is wrong unless you’re the one lying. Killing is a capital offense, unless it’s you swinging the sword.”

“What in the fuck are you talking about?”

“Do you know why your father is dead? Why Arne is dead?”

Erik got unsteadily to his feet, swaying, having to clutch at the wall behind him for balance. “You shut your fucking–”

“Because they couldn’t compromise. Because they couldn’t sit back and understand that not every war is one worth fighting. Sometimes, it’s best to pick the winning side, stand back, and watch the bloodshed from a distance. My father taught me that. He knew the value of a life: what good is it if you throw it away?”

“My father,” Erik began, through gritted teeth.

“Chose to align himself with the South to fight the Sels. To fight an enemy that wasn’t even at your doorstep! And look how that turned out. And now here you are, prepared to do the same thing – all for red hair and a pretty smile.”

Erik gripped the bars and tugged at them – ineffectually. “Come into this cell and say that, you craven goat-fucker.”

Ragnar grinned nastily. “No, I don’t think I will.” Then the smile dropped, along with his pretense. He sighed. “Erik. Listen.” He rubbed the side of his neck, and looked exhausted, suddenly, lined and worn-down, silver threads glinting in the gold of his hair. “Hate me if you want, but this isn’t personal. This isn’t about you and me and our history.

“When the Sels took the Crownlands, they struck a bargain with the Ákafamaðr across the strait at Radial.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because their envoy told me so, six months ago, when he came over the Spine and treated with me.”

Erik felt his brows go up.

“Your fire-drake wasn’t the first one to come tell the North about the war. The Sels themselves did it long before. They recruited the Ákafamaðr. When the envoy came, it was to tell me they’d already joined forces, and that I could join as well, or be mowed down.”

“Why would they join? They detest Southerners.”

“As do the Sels. They have common cause. The enemy of my enemy and all that. Do you think the Aggressors would miss a chance to go pillaging? While sanctioned to do so?”

“So, what? You joined them? You’re a Sel agent?”

“I am my own agent,” Ragnar countered, voice hardening. “I’m doing what I must to protect myself, and my clan. They asked me to sway you – because they don’t know you as I do. I knew – Iknew– that you would never bow to the Sels. Never stand back and watch them colonize the South. You are your father’s son, and I knew your stubborn honor would have you mobilizing for war.

“And that was before I got to Aeres and saw your new toy. It wasn’t even worth wasting my breath to ask, then. You’d fight the world for that boy.”

The worst part, Erik thought, was that it all made a horrible kind of sense. Ragnar had always been conniving, manipulative – had always been looking out for himself, and no one else. Had always, beneath the jeers and condescension, been bristling with a barely-veiled jealousy. They were family; had the winds of fate blown a little differently, he might have been King of Aeretoll instead of Erik – or so he’d said once, years ago, deep in his cups. Erik had never forgotten that.

And neither, it seemed, had Ragnar.

“They promised you my throne,” he said, dread heavy as a stone in his belly. The way Ragnar’s eyes widened, suddenly, was all the proof he needed. “Didn’t they? You get the entire North to help the Sels, and they’ll install you as king in my stead. Oh, Ragnar. You’re more pathetic than I ever realized.”

Aggression flared in Ragnar’s eyes. He charged forward, head lowered, teeth bared, accusatory finger stabbing through the bars toward Erik’s chest. But it was fear that laced his voice when he hissed, “You haveno ideawhat’s coming. The Great Northern Phalanx will be crushed like old leaves underfoot when the Sel army sweeps through. They are too many, too well-trained, their resources endless. You will die. Your people will die. Your nephews, and your sister, and your consort. You will watch them bleed out, and you will starve to death in some dank cell half a world away.”

“A cell like this one?” Erik countered, calmly. “Perhaps it will be warmer than this.”

Ragnar swore and turned away. Paced down the hallway and then turned back, resigned now. “I wish you were different, Erik, I really do. I wish I could have told you the truth. Could have reasoned with you. But this is the only way. In truth, I think it the kinder fate. Now you won’t have to witness the ruination of your entire house.”

Erik said, “You poisoned the Beserkirs against us. Got them thinking about what they’re owed.”

“They aren’t very smart. It wasn’t hard.”

“And all that happened on the road: that was you too.”

“That was theshamans.” Ragnar shuddered. “If you want to be very technical about it, I didn’t lift a finger against you or yours.”

“No, you only allowed it. Whose creatures are they? Who sanctioned the old ways?”

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