A loud scream comes from the left, but I don’t look. I know it isn’t Einarr, so I keep my eyes locked forward on the man in front of me. He would kill me while I have my back turned, and I refuse to be killed in a moment of my own weakness.
“I’m nothing like you. I don’t kill and take over for the hell of it. I don’t do it for greed.”
He rolls his eyes as we dance around each other. We circle each other, like two lions facing off, preparing to fight over territory. “What’s it matter the reason? Killing still makes you a murderer.”
His words spark something in me that I haven’t felt in a very long time—guilt. Not for everyone I’ve killed, but for the one kill I didn’t expect to get to me. My brother.
I push that to the back of my mind and flip my sword skillfully in my hand. “And because of my kill, what does that make you? Are you the new King?”
“No. We have no home now. No one is stepping forward.”
“Nothing but a bunch of cowards, it seems,” I spit.
“We are here fighting you!”
I spread my arms out when Einarr digs his blade into the last man’s chest. “It’s just you now, Achim. You boys, pretending to be men. Did you really think you had a chance against us?” I won’t mention that I had doubt in the beginning, but they are not trained or skilled like Einarr and me. I should have known better.
“There are plenty more where they came from,” he bellows, charging at me again.
I sigh with exhaustion and step out of the way. He stumbles. His foot trips over the other, and he falls face first in the mud.
Well, this is just sad.
“If they are all like you, you’re only making me have fun and giving me practice.”
Einarr laughs as he leans against his steed, diving into one of the pouches and taking out an apple, biting into it with a crunch so loud it can be heard over the rain. I use my own sword as a cane, leaning against it as Achim tries to get to his feet. The ground runs with mud and blood and rain, making it difficult for him to stand.
“You call yourself a warrior?” I spit, dragging my blade across the ground to get closer to him.
“I’m more of a warrior than you shall ever be.” He slides on his hands and knees again, slipping in the mud.
“I can kill you right now, but I don’t kill a man when he can’t defend himself.” I wipe my hand over my face to clear the rain blinding me.
“You’re weak if you can’t,” he snarls, finally getting up and getting control of his weapon.
I move out of the way as he tries to strike again, but he is losing strength and energy. He fights too hard. He doesn’t know how to use his body and the weight of his sword to give him the best advantage.
Tired of playing games and missing Sassa, I swipe the blade under his feet, which makes him jump and jerk back, just what I wanted. From a crouching position, I plunge the blade deep into his gut, causing him to stumble back toward the cliff.
“I am no weak man, you fool.”
He gives me a blood-filled smile, showing the red pooling in his mouth across his teeth. “I’m not the fool,” he wheezes, grabbing the sword with his hand and plunging it deeper and taking a step back. “If I die, you’re coming with me.” He gives one final yank until the sword is all but buried in his gut along with my hand and falls over the edge of the cliff.
I look to Einarr, who throws his apple in the air and runs to get me. Everything happens in slow motion.
I fall over the cliff with the enemy. Einarr’s eyes are wide with fear. He knows he can’t get to me in time. I don’t break eye contact as gravity takes me below the cliff line, spiraling to my death.
The only image flashing in my mind is Sassa and my love for her.
“Grimkael!” Einarr’s cry echoes down the valley as I fall. I hear the pain and the loss. I can’t imagine what he is going to tell Sassa. I hate that she will have to deal with the death of me and her father, but she is a strong woman. I know she will find love again.
A single tear leaves my eye as I spread my arms out, accepting what is.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sassa
Something isn’t right.
I glance toward the prone body of my father, seeing his chest rise and fall. His days are getting harder. His breathing is ragged, and I know he must be in pain with how he groans with every breath. I’ve prepared myself for his death. It no longer feels so forbidden to me. It still scares me, to know what this life will be like without him, but I’m more prepared now, thanks to Grim.
Looking back toward the window, the heavy rain beats against the stained glass and lightning strikes only a half a mile away. Something is off. I feel it in my heart. I get to my feet when I see Einarr riding full speed on Jasmin with Beast next to him, but no Grim.
“No.”
The word leaves my mouth like poison. My stomach rolls, and I barely make it to the bucket before I’m spilling my guts into it.
“No. It can’t be. There is a reason. Don’t think the worst,” I tell myself, but I know. Deep down, I feel the shift in my soul like I’m alone in this world again.
I flee my father’s bedroom and hurry down the steps. Einarr opens the front door, soaked to the bone with rain and blood.
Blood.
“Einarr! What happened?”
He brushes his hand over his face, and that’s when I see that it isn’t rain, he is wiping away, but tears. “He ran after me. I was upset. He stopped me from going over a cliff, and then we were ambushed by one of the front gate guards.”
“Who? Where is Grimkael!” I scream, and Aala comes running out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her white apron.
“What in the devil is going on, your Highness?” she asks.
“It’s Grimkael,” I say with a quivering bottom lip. “Tell me everything!” I scream until my throat is raw and aching. “Tell me everything right now, or I swear to the goddesses I shall kill you myself!”
“Achim, your front guard, was a traitor. He was with Krane’s men. He ambushed us along with twelve other men. We defeated them—”
“Then where is my husband?” Impatience loads my tone.
“He stabbed Achim, but they were too close to the edge. I tried to get to them. I ran for him, but it was too late. He fell.”
“He fell,” I repeat.
“Grim is dead, Sassa. The warlord has perished.” He kneels on one knee, bowing his head. “I’m sorry, Wartress, Wife of Grimkael Hohlt, Warlord of the Vikings, for ye now are a widow.” He keeps his head bowed, out of respect. I forgot the second always gave the news to the next of kin in that manner
“I want his body delivered to me. Do you understand?” I cry. “I want his body. I want to bury my husband! Bring him to me.”
I bury my face in my hands and sob. “Grim!” I let out a loud cry full of agony that is tearing me to shreds. I can barely feel my heart anymore.
My body goes limp. Distantly, I feel arms wrap around me. My gown is soaked with water, and when I look up into a beard that holds one bead, I know Einarr caught me.
“Come follow me. Her room is this way,” Aala says.
My room. The same room I used to climb out of to go to my getaway place. The place I met Grim. I cry harder into Einarr’s chest, unable to stop the searing pain obliterating my body. It’s as if my soul is being ripped in half by fire. “He can’t be dead,” I mumble through tears that drown me. “He said he’d always be with me. He would never lie.”
Einarr tilts his head down. He has no idea what to say to me. What can he say?
“Here we are.” Aala opens the door to my bedroom, and Einarr lays me gently on the mattress.
“Do you want to window open to let in some fresh air?” Aala strolls to the window to open it, but I shake my head.
“No. I don’t want anything. I just want Grim.” I wrap my arms around my waist and turn over, crying into the soft cloth of my pillow.
“I’m truly sorry, Sassa. He fought like a hero. Like
a true warlord,” says Einarr.
“I don’t give a shit about how he fought! I want him back. You hear me? I want him back. Give him back to me!” I wail the last word until my own voice is bouncing off the walls, and my throat hurts. “Just give him back,” I whisper.
I remember hating him. I remember wishing I was back in this room away from Grim, away from his savage life. I remember hating my father for a moment but hating Grim even more for demanding like he did. It’s silly now.
Now I’m here, missing a part of myself I’ll never be able to get back. I’ll never find love like that again. I never want it again. Not if it hurts this bad. I look down to my flat abdomen, placing my palm there, and the knowledge of raising our child alone only makes the agony that much more unbearable.
It makes me want to die.
I haven’t told him the news yet. I was going to tell him tonight. I wanted to wait and see if I missed my third monthly before saying anything. My breasts had started to really hurt the last week and swell, and only this week did I know I was pregnant. I felt it in my heart, in my soul.
Just like how I knew the moment I lost Grim. Something shifted. All the right in the world fell away in that moment, and the all-encompassing fear of loss took over me. My body doesn’t feel like mine anymore. My heart doesn’t feel like mine. My soul is a stranger owned by death.
I close my eyes for what feels like seconds, but is apparently much longer, seeing as I end up sleeping through the next day.
Aala comes to bring me soup, and I look at her through swollen, red eyes. “Is Grim back yet?”
She sets the plate on the table and takes a washcloth to my forehead, getting the sweat and dry tears from my face. “Oh, sweetheart. No, my lady. Einarr is out looking for him, though. He is trying his best to bring him back.”
“Why would he leave me?” I slur.
“Sometimes that’s just the way of fate, my dear. Here, you need to eat, your Highness.”
I turn over on my other side and clutch a pillow to my stomach. “I’m not hungry.”
“You must eat for the baby, my lady. I know you’re pregnant. It isn’t good for the little one to go hungry, ma’am.”
I sit up and fling the tray off the dresser, sending soup tumbling to the floor. “I don’t care! I don’t want it unless Grim is here. I don’t want it!” I scream, picking up the mug of water and smashing it against the wall.
“Get out, leave me alone,” I wheeze. My head hits the pillow from using too much energy, and I shut my eyes, letting another day pass me by.
“You must eat,” Einarr insists the next morning.
“I don’t want to. Just let me grieve in peace. Why must you all bother me all the damn time? I’ll eat when I want to.” I continue to stare out the window. The weather matches my mood. It’s raining, dark, doom-like.
“Grim wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself. He would want you to take care of yourself and the baby. A piece of him. Don’t you want that?”
The laugh that spills out of my mouth is anything but normal. It’s maniacal with a hint of madness. Maybe I’ve lost my mind now. “A piece? I don’t want anything that gives me a piece. I want all of him. I want him here, and if he can’t be here, then I want nothing to do with anything!”
“If you don’t start eating, I shall hold you down and pour the broth down your throat myself,” he threatens.
“Go away, Einarr.” I wipe the tears away that won’t stop falling. I can’t get them to stop falling. I just want everything to go away.
“You need to see your father soon. He isn’t well. I think you should consider saying goodbye.” The mattress dips from the loss of his weight, and the door clicks shut, leaving me in silence.
Right, my father is dying, too. I suppose that is what people like to do around me. Is that what I do? I just bring death to everyone I touch or who touches me? I place my hand on my stomach, just knowing I’ll do the same to the child if I’m its mother. I bury my face in my pillow and scream. My fist slams against the mattress. I want to kill something.
But darkness takes me under again. Nightmares of Grim falling to his death assault me over and over again until I wake up with someone shaking me.
“Sassa! Sassa, wake up. It’s me. It’s Thyra.”
I open my eyes to my best friend and give her a weak smile. “Thyra.”
“Hey, you!” She places her hand on my face, and her chin dimples from holding back her emotion. “How are you?”
“How does it look?” I say, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand as I sit up. I haven’t showered in who knows how long. I still have no appetite. And I still miss Grim. The damn tears start to come again, and I get frustrated and let out an annoyed growl. “Why won’t they stop!” I shout.
Thyra places her hands on my stomach, silently telling me the reason why I’m not getting out of my funk. I feel attacked. I feel like she is blaming my baby for my depression. I smack her hand away, staring at her like I don’t even know her. “How dare you blame him! It isn’t his fault. I’m sad, damn it! Grim is dead. My baby has nothing to do with it,” I spit.
I push her away, but she wraps her arms around me, fighting me, embracing me in a tight hold. “Stop fighting me. I’m not blaming the baby. I’m saying on top of your grief; you are pregnant. It will intensify everything.”
I place my arms on her chest and push, but she is stronger than me. She isn’t weak from not eating or depression. “Just stop,” she pleads, squeezing me tightly.
My hands clutch her dress in the back as I lay my head on her shoulder and cry. “I don’t know what to be anymore,” I whisper.
“I’ll help you find your way. You aren’t alone, Sassa,” she says.
But her words, no matter how true they are, don’t take the feeling of loneliness away. There’s still a big, gaping hole where my soul used to be. I’m just a shell of what I used to be, nothing more, nothing less.
I would laugh at myself if the old me got to see the future me. I would think I was pathetic as I lay here, crying on my best friend’s shoulder, mourning over a man I didn’t even want in the first place.
And pregnant with a child? I turned into the very thing I fought so hard not to become. And it was to avoid this. To avoid this pain, this torment of loss, because now I must live with it forever.
But as I place my hand against my stomach and feel a flutter, I realize how lucky I am. Grim and I made this baby from our love, and in my time of grief, I was abandoning that love. “Thyra, I need your help, because I don’t think I can do this on my own.”
She cups my face with her hands, mirroring tears fall down her rosy cheeks. “Oh, Sassa. You must never worry about that. I’m here for you. I’m always here.”
I lay my cheek against her shoulder and stare out the window. Grim said he would always be here, but it just proves that people only say that to make you feel better because life is too unpredictable to really know if you’ll be here or not.
“Drink some broth for me, please?” She holds up a bowl, and if I smack it out of her hand, it will be the fifth bowl in two days. Two days. That’s all? It feels like an eternity.
She puts it to my lips, and I groan with relief as it hits my empty stomach. I shall never abandon this love. Not now, not ever. If not for me, for Grim.
Chapter Thirty
Grim
Everything bloody hurts.
My eyes flutter open, wincing as the sun hits me in the face. I lift my right arm to block the light and smack my lips together. I grimace in pain when something stings my leg, and when I look down, a bloody vulture picks the wound in my leg. I lift my leg, giving a weak kick.
“Get out of here!” I croak, my throat dry from breathing in all the dust surrounding me.
I try to move, but my eyes squeeze shut as a ripping pain starts in my left arm and shoots through my body. “Bloody hell,” I say through clenched teeth. I turn my head to see a sword sticking through my shoulder. The blood on the blade is dry, telling m
e that I’ve been in this position for a while.
The sky is a beautiful shade of blue, and a river flows in the distance, driving my thirst to a whole new level. My eyes drift to the top of the cliff I must have fallen off of when I battled that Jackal. That’s a long drop. How the hell am I still alive?
I wiggle around a bit more, noticing that whatever I am laying on is soft. Looking down, I notice a pair of legs under me. I start laughing, but that shoots pain throughout my entire body, causing me to moan.
“Of course I landed on him. That’s what he deserves,” I grunt, moving my right hand to my left shoulder and pushing against the skin surrounding the blade.
My nostrils flare from the searing pain, and I clench my jaw so tight I think I’m about to break the bone. This will be painful. I take a few more deep breaths and plant my feet by the man’s legs, digging them into the ground to get a good grip for what I’m about to do.
I lift my torso and start to scream. “Ahh! Fuck. Ah, fuck!” I roar as I keep lifting, the sound of flesh pulling away from the blade almost louder than the echo of my screams in the valley. My vision starts to blur and black tints the edges. “No, I can’t!” I shout one more time, trying to get fury pumping through me, so I don’t pass out.
Once the sword is out, I roll over and groan. Sweat stings my eyes, and my vision is coming in and out as my brain threatens to shut me down in unconsciousness. I turn my head to see an image that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I’m used to death. I’m used to killing, but I’m not used to seeing a flattened body. I hold my hand over my mouth to stop myself from puking.
I was impaled on his sword and stuck on him. What day is it? It must have been at least a day because it isn’t raining anymore. I take my sword in my good hand and get to my feet, keeping my left leg out from the deep cut in my calve.
Well, there’s only one way up, and I think the effort may just kill me, but I must get back to Sassa. My head swims, probably from dehydration and blood loss. I lean against the rocks, taking a few deep breaths again to try to gain control of my body. A river rushes close by, and I decide, before I do anything, to get a drink and clean up. Maybe I’ll feel better.
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