Page 64 of Blood of Wolves

No, not just Revna, Tessa realized, faltering a step. Both of them. She met several direct gazes; felt the weight of eyes dark, and light, and shadowed from lack of proper sleep. They looked to their lady, and then they looked to her: the outsider, the Southerner, theguest. The one given the honor of walking with the king’s sister.

She sent up a silent prayer that she could serve them in the way they deserved, and straightened her spine another fraction.

When they reached the flagstone floor, the crowd parted, unprompted, clearing a path to the dais, and Erik’s empty throne. Revna’s cloak trailed along behind her, a whisper of velvet over stone, and she murmured quiet words of encouragement to everyone they passed. It was a slow procession, in that regard.

Tessa had no idea what to say – didn’t want to share untrue assurances – but she offered smiles, and earned a few in return.

Finally, Revna mounted the low stairs of the dais, and turned to face the room. They’d talked of this, and so Tessa moved to the chair that had been placed beside the throne, heavy and richly-carved, but not nearly as ornate as Erik’s tall seat.

But Revna didn’t sit; she stood, tall and proud, and her voice rang out strong and sure through the hall when she spoke. “By now, I’m sure you all know what’s happening. The horns have been sounding because the enemy – the same enemy that drove you from your homes and behind these walls – has finally left its ships, and made landfall here in Aeres.”

She paused, because even if everyone had known it, they still gasped, and murmured, and cursed. It was one thing to suspect something, Tessa knew, and another to have it confirmed.

“Our enemies,” Revna continued, “are the Sels from across the Dividing Sea, and they are fearsome to be sure.

“But so are we!”

A cheer, then, a faint one, in the throats of the older men.

“This palace belonged to my father, and my grandfather, and his grandfather before him. It is built of stone hewn from the Wolf Mountains, and it is as strong as my bloodline – as the blood of your king, Erik, who even now races back to us across the Wastes, bringing all of the Great Northern Phalanx.”

Another cheer, this one louder.

“It is up to us – to all of us – to hold these walls unbreached until his return; to prove to those invading bastards that they may conquer the South all they please, but they will not conquer us! We are the North! And we bow to no one save our king and our gods!”

It was a roar this time, from nearly every throat, echoing in the high, vaulted ceiling, ringing off the walls.

Revna turned her head a fraction, and winked at Tessa.

Something very like hope stirred in Tessa’s chest.

Maybe they could survive this.

Maybe Erik – and Leif, and Oliver – really would come.

And maybe offering hope to a people was as important as the sharpness of the swords and spears that kept watch along the wall.

~*~

The morning had dawned clear and bright, but as Rune waited by Bjorn’s side at the inner portcullis, waiting on the bridge to lower into place, he spotted clouds building along the horizon. He prayed for snow – a whiteout would hamper siege efforts, and the Sels came from a western land where snow was a rarity, rather than a constant. The weather was an Aeretollean ally, in this.

Four guards stood in pairs behind them, snow crunching beneath their boots as they shifted. The chains of the bridge rattled as men walked round and round the wheels that let them out, link by link, and sent the bridge slowly down, down, down, the wood groaning in the cold.

“Remember–” Bjorn started.

“I know. I know.”

“Hm.”

A breeze gusted, tugging at his royal cloak, his fresh braids – his nerves. He felt as if there were bees under his skin, zipping and buzzing. He clenched his teeth to keep his jaw from quivering, and gripped the pommel of his sword until he felt his knuckles crack. The wound in his torso throbbed, faintly, a phantom pain or a real one? He didn’t know, it didn’t matter.

The bridge settled into its braces with a final, echoingthump.

“Bridge is down!” someone called overhead, followed my two sharp horn blasts. “Raise the gate!”

A clang, a lurch, and the portcullis began its slow ascent. The chains clicked, clumps of snow fell from the iron rungs to land at their feet, and Rune’s hand spasmed on his sword. Finally, with a final clang, the gate was secured above.

“Ready?” Bjorn asked.

---