Page 11 of Heart of the Wolf
Bright beams of sun poked through the dense clouds. Brielle flicked up the hood on her cloak, hiding her hair from the people milling about. She stood out with her untamed curls, and all she wanted was to blend in.
Astrid threaded an arm through Brielle’s as if they had known each other their entire lives. Grinning, Astrid steered her through the labyrinthine pathways splintering off from the massive building in the heart of the village.
Children laughed and ran between the houses. Eyes followed her everywhere they went, but their wary gazes faltered when Astrid greeted them.
Some smiled and welcomed her, unbothered by a foreigner in their midst. Others were cautious, dipping their chins before returning to their business without a word.
A woman with flaming hair stared at her, fingers closed around a spear as she bent over to murmur to the man beside her. When he dipped his chin in acknowledgment, a jagged scar shone on his forehead. Astrid conversed with them in furious Norse, reminding Brielle of the gossipy old woman who lived next door to her back home.
As they continued to speak, Brielle recognized the redhead as one of the warriors who came to her village with Amund. The weight of their gazes made her shuffle, kicking rocks with her feet.
“Hello,” the redhead forced out, struggling with the words. “Liv.” She tapped her chest. “Andri.” She slapped the man across the back of his head, and he grunted, rubbing the spot. “Husband,” she said, a wide grin splitting her lips.
The man snorted and scratched his beard before mumbling something in Liv’s ear that made her flush and swat at his chest. The tension in Brielle’s belly uncoiled, making an unsure smile appear.
Brielle murmured to Astrid. “How do I say hello in your tongue?”
They were trying; she wanted to do the same.
“Heill,” Astrid said. “It is our greeting.”
Turning her attention to Liv, Brielle smiled, “Heill. Brielle.” She patted the spot where her heart was.
Jeweled eyes widened under Liv’s amused smile. Roughly grabbing Brielle, Liv squeezed her into a tight embrace, making it hard for her to breathe. Only once the shock of what was happening wore off did Brielle return the hug, swathing her much smaller arms around Liv’s sculpted shoulders.
Her husband, Andri, whispered something in her ear that made her release Brielle instantly.
Brielle shared a conspiratorial look with Andri, offering a silent thank you. He dipped his chin, a half-smirk painted on his lips.
Without a word, Andri picked up Liv, tossing her over his shoulder. She shrieked, pounding on his back playfully. The two of them disappeared into their home. Something between mirth and mortification mingled in Brielle’s chest as Astrid led her deeper into the village.
A vibrant, palpable energy hummed everywhere as children played and people bartered.
Grim sadness rooted itself in her chest, Brielle grieving something she never had. She admired how passionate these people were, so different from the cold indifference of her own back home.
They laughed, spoke, and touched openly, without reservation.
Astrid was patient, taking the time to describe the various buildings, pillars, and people.
Every corner and nook brimmed with life. People exchanged food for furs and mead for weapons. They didn’t look defeated and listless. They didn’t hiss in pain. They didn’t starve themselves.
The people here were thriving.
She toyed with the frayed threads on her hood.
“Is Úlfr,” Brielle focused on pronouncing it just as the jarl had. “The King? Konungr?”
Warmth settled into Astrid’s features, making her appear motherly. “Close. Úlfr is our Konungr,” she praised, impressed with Brielle’s attempt to learn their words. “King is an English phrase. No such thing exists here. Konungr is the head of our clans. Our leader.”
“Úlfr is his name?”
“No. Sorry,” Astrid paused, brow pinched. “I don’t know what Úlfr translates to in your tongue. But Konungris Leif Sigurðarson. He has been such since his father went to Valhalla.”
So, Leif was the man who brought her here after she collapsed in the forest. The Dane from her dreams. From her childhood. He hadn’t died. He stopped coming to the village after his father passed, and he became their Konungr.
“And the jarl, Amund, is second in line behind Leif? Your husband?”
“Yes. They are like brothers. United the clans. There is peace in our lands for the first time in centuries.”
