“Interesting,” Lady Isabel finally said. “It is inlaid with the raw magic of Spring. The Fates have not yet given it a purpose.”
“Is there any way for us to influence what it finally becomes?” Marsilia asked, setting down her spoon and breaking a piece of bread over her bowl.
“I’m afraid not,” Eogain answered, shaking her head. “The power comes from the Mantles, but it is given purpose by the Fates for whatever is needed.”
“How do I activate its power when I’m using it?” Fjell asked, pushing his empty bowl aside.
“Marsilia should know that answer,” Isabel said with a faint smile, raising her gaze from the blade to look at the seidkona.
Fjell glanced aside at her, watching her brow furrow in thought before something clicked.
“By force of will,” Marsilia answered, her brow still furrowed. “But if we both have sacrificed to it, will it need both of our wills?”
“No, that is to be on the wielder,” Eogain answered, shaking her head. “It is not so different from how you activate the magic in your own crafted items, Fjell.”
“You will have time to get a feel for it as we travel to the shifting point tomorrow,” Ailbhe added.
“I assume this means you intend to make the sacrifice with my blessing, Fjell?” Isabel asked, sopping up the last of her stew with a piece of bread.
“Aye,” he said, nodding. “And I already know what I will give.”
“Good,” Isabel said. “Then I will leave you all to your evening. I will need tonight to prepare for the Blessing in the morning.”
The Lady of Autumn folded her napkin aside and stood, the rest of the table following suit, though Marsilia was a touched delayed. As Ailbhe escorted the Lady out, Fjell bowed to her passing before reclaiming his seat.
“There is one matter left to discuss,” Eogain said, reclaiming her seat as well. “How do you plan to find the dark witch in the expanse of your woods.”
“I actually had a thought on that,” Marsilia said, and raised her arm. Astud hopped onto her arm and she lowered him down to eye level with herself. “How much help can a raven really be in a fight?” she asked.
Astud cawed irritably at her and she leaned back from the sound. Fjell barely kept a straight face; he was pretty sure the spirit raven had just reprimanded her.
Eogain, however, did not restrain herself and laughed lightly. “This creature is of the Spirit Realm; it is magic made flesh. I am certain it will be able to hold its own against any mortal being.”
“Right, sorry,” Marsilia said, a flush creeping up in her cheeks. “I was just thinking that Astud would be able to find the witch, between its flight and innate magic.”
The raven tilted its head to one side, staring at her. After a moment, it bounced in place, bobbing its head before the hackles of its neck puffed out. “Find the witch,” it repeated in Marsilia’s voice.
“I think that’s a yes,” Fjell offered, still tamping down his amusement.
“Yes,” the raven repeated in his voice.
Fjell drew back, giving it a wary glance. “That’s really unnerving,” he muttered, then shook his head.
Eogain nodded at Astud and Marsilia. “Then I believe you are as prepared as we can make you. I would suggest finding what rest you can this evening, by whatever means that is. Feel free to call for wine or mead if you so desire.” Standing, she gave them each a reassuring smile. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter 36
Marsilia waited in her room by the open window as the sunset lit the sky ablaze. Astud had flown out the window as soon as she opened it and perched in a nearby tree, paying her no attention. Nerves fluttered in her stomach. She knew what she wanted, and she thought Fjell would want the same, but there were never any guarantees.
A fire already crackled in the fireplace, but the cool autumn breeze tamed the flush of nerves in her cheeks. A knock came at the door and she turned, looking back.
“Enter,” she called, smoothing down her skirts and adjusting the fur draped around her shoulders.
The door swung open and Fjell took a step into the room, a bottle tucked under his arm and two silver goblets held in one hand. He hesitated there a moment, taking in the sight of her as his eyes began to glow gold in the presence of the fire.
“Ye still up for talking?” he asked, taking a few more steps into the room.
“I am,” she answered, smiling faintly as she moved to one of the two chairs before the fireplace. She could feel heat creeping into her cheeks as soon as she left the window. “And you?”
“Aye,” he answered, pushing the door closed behind himself and nodding to the bottle. “Figured we might want a drink too. I will, anyway.”
Raising her eyebrows in concern, Marsilia took a seat as he set the bottle and glasses down on the table between the two chairs.
“I’m not certain that’s a good sign for our conversation,” she said, watching him as he moved around the other chair to stand between her and the fireplace.
Her brow furrowed as he looked down at her so seriously. Taking a slow breath, he reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a string of bright blue glass beads threaded onto a short silver chain.
“I’m supposed to have a gift for when I ask ye to allow me to court ye,” he explained, frowning. “But I haven’t exactly had a chance to craft anything. Best I could come up with at the moment was a few beads from one of my necklaces. If ye’ll accept this for now, I’ll make ye a proper—”
“Fjell,” she interrupted with a small laugh. “I don’t care about gifts. I kind of thought you’d have realized that by now.”
“Aye, but I must do it this way,” he answered, meeting her gaze evenly, offering the bracelet to her. “Please, just accept it.”
Frowning, Marsilia finally nodded and took the bracelet, turning it over in her hands. “This isn’t how I thought our talk was going to go,” she finally said, looking up at him as he took the seat across from her. “Fjell, I don’t care about being ‘courted’.”
“Aye,” he answered quietly, pouring mead into each of the goblets and handing her one. “I know. I’m sorry, but I have to do it this way.”
Accepting the glass, she continued to frown at him. “I’m not some highborn lady. I’m a witch of the woods, a dryad-sister, no matter what I may be becoming.”
She watched as he began to take a drink, his brow still furrowed. Heat rose in her cheeks again. He wasn’t getting it. She felt her ears begin to burn with her growing blush as she looked to the fire.
“I don’t want to be courted, Fjell,” she said quietly, nerves fluttering in her stomach. “I want to take you as my lover.”
The dwarf choked on his mead.
Setting his glass aside, he coughed a couple more times, wiping at his mouth and beard. “Fanden, seidkona,” he said. “Are ye trying to kill me?”
“If it snaps you out of whatever strange seriousness has taken you,” she answered, biting her lip to not laugh at his coughing before slowly sobering again. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she frowned, looking down at her goblet. “What’s going on, Fjell? I thought… I thought we were wanting the same thing, but you’re not yourself. If you don’t want to do this, if you don’t want… me...”
His hand came into view, tilting her chin up and she found him leaning over her, his free hand supporting his weight on the arm of her chair. Golden eyes blazed down upon her, taking her breath with the intensity of his gaze. Bending down, he kissed her slowly, deeply. Her heart hammered in her chest and she gladly gave into the whims of his mouth, tasting the sweet honey mead still on his lips, breathing in the scents of wood smoke and earth that were intrinsically him. Breaking from that kiss reluctantly, he leaned back then took a knee before her, his hand moving from her chin to her cheek.
“I do want ye,” he said, meeting her gaze with sincerity and an undeniable trace of passion. “More than I think I’ve ever wanted anything before. But I won’t have ye enter into
any sort of relationship with me when secrets still hang between us.”
Furrowing her brow, Marsilia searched his glowing gaze. “Does that mean you’re going to tell me, or that you don’t want to do this?” she finally asked.
Fjell laughed softly, caressing her cheek before standing and turning back to reclaim his chair. “It means I’m going to tell ye and then see if ye still want me.”
“Fjell,” she began but he shook his head, picking up his goblet.
“I have to court ye if we are going to be together,” he said, pausing to take a sip before looking to the fireplace. “Aye, yer not highborn, but yer still a seidkona, and I am of lineage. If we are together and ye don’t have at least some riches, it’ll be viewed as me disrespecting and not valuing ye.” Turning his gaze back to her, a smile crept across his face. “Besides, I want to court ye. I want to shower ye in gifts, in fine clothes and jewels. When we walk through Svartalfheim, everyone should see the woman of power ye are. Ye deserve that.”
Marsilia furrowed her brow, taking a sip of her mead. “I… Alright,” she sighed. Looking down into her glass, she continued to frown. “Does this mean you plan to reclaim your old title?”
“Aye,” he answered, frowning as well. “It’ll be a long road, but it will give me more leverage to protect ye politically as ye grow in yer own power.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, looking up to watch the fire play across his face. “I thought you already were protecting me like that.”
“Not as much as I’m capable of,” he said with a grimace. Taking another long drink from his goblet, he paused, staring into the glass. “King Nibelung is my uncle. I’m not a lord, Marsilia. When I reclaim my place, I’m fifth in line for the throne.”
Her face screwed up in confusion as she stared at him. “Does that make you a prince, then?” she asked hesitantly.
“Aye,” he answered quietly.
For a long moment, silence reigned, punctuated by pops from the fire. Fjell slowly looked back up at her, apprehension etched across his face. She remained still, staring at him in return, trying to process that last piece of information.
“Oh,” she finally managed to say weakly, and downed her goblet of mead.
“See?” he sighed, setting his own goblet aside as he leaned back in his chair and stared into the fire once more. “That’s why I was reluctant to tell ye.”
Marsilia watched him for a long moment more. It hadn’t mattered when she thought him a lord. Did it really matter that he was a prince? It would probably lead to more politics, but if she continued on her path, she was heading that direction anyway. Even if not, wasn’t what she felt for him worth standing at his side through it all? Wasn’t he worth the same effort he was already giving her?
She paused, frowning at her own thoughts. Were her feelings for him already so strong? As she watched the shift of shadows on his face, the faint glow of his eyes as he sat with his jaw clenched, her heart fluttered in her chest. Setting her goblet aside, she stood and closed the few feet between them. Fjell slowly drew his gaze from the fire to look at her as she held out the bracelet to him.
“Will you help me put this on?” she asked, her own visage etched in determination. “I can’t manage the clasp one-handed.”
He glanced at the bracelet before her words caught up to him. His gaze shifted up to meet hers and a smile pulled across his face, tender and affectionate and full of relief as he stood. She couldn't help smiling in return.
“Aye,” he answered, taking the jewelry lightly from her fingers.
Chapter 37
Fjell draped the bracelet around his seidkona’s wrist and clasped it in place. His fingers traced slowly across her porcelain skin, his heart swelling with joy, anticipation, relief, desire, and still a small piece of trepidation. Taking Marsilia’s hand loosely in his, he raised it as the blue beaded bracelet slipped just past the small of her wrist. Never taking his gaze from hers, he slowly kissed the back of her fingers below her knuckles.
The flush in her cheeks renewed and she stared back at him, her lips parting as a small smile spread across her face. There were still secrets to divulge, still things in his past that he didn’t want to hide from her, but at that moment all he wanted was to take her in his arms, drown her in kisses, caresses, passion.
He hesitated only a moment more before pulling her closer, bending down as he slipped an arm around her waist, pressing her against himself. Her arms wrapped around his neck as his lips met hers and his heart began to pound as her mouth parted willingly, eagerly beneath his kiss. He brought his other hand to her waist, slowly tracing the line of her hip before pulling her harder still against his—
CAW!
Fjell nearly jumped out of his skin at the bird’s cry and Marsilia jerked back, wide-eyed. Still tangled in each other’s arms, the couple looked back to the window. An irritated Astud puffed and strutted angrily along the window sill, staring at them. The raven looked directly at him and cawed again.
The dwarf managed a small chuckle as he looked back down at his seidkona. “I don’t think yer raven likes me much,” he said.
Sighing, Marsilia unwound herself from his embrace and turned to face the spirit beast. “Astud, he’s not hurting me, he’s not doing anything I don’t wish him to do. Please leave us be.”
The raven’s feathers smoothed and it tilted it’s head to the side, looking directly at him still. The hackles on its neck puffed out and it spoke in his voice again, repeating part of what he had said moments ago. “Secrets still hang between us.”
“He already told me—” she began in exasperation, but cut off as Fjell laid his hand upon her shoulder. Looking back at him over her shoulder, she furrowed her brow. “You already told me everything, right?”
Taking a deep breath, he gave the raven a finally irritated glance before returning his gaze to her. “I haven’t told ye the truth of what happened that got me outcast.” He glanced at the bird. “Is that what yer issue is?”
The raven ruffled its feathers, staring at him, and he could only assume that was a ‘yes’.
“I don’t care what you did in your past,” Marsilia said, raising her chin as she turned back to face him. “I care who you are now.”
“Even if I killed my own betrothed?” he asked, all thoughts of passion dying as he looked down and met her gaze.
Her determination faltered, her brows drawing together. Sighing, Fjell turned to the small table beside them and poured them each another glass of mead. Returning to face her once more, he handed her one of the silver goblets and motioned for her to take a seat before doing so himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said, staring at his goblet. “I shouldn’t have put the bracelet on ye or kissed ye so before I finished telling ye everything.”
“Well... I’m still here, aren’t I?” she asked, settling into her own seat. “Fjell, I trust you. I don’t believe you would ever harm me, no matter what happened in your past. If you killed someone so close to you, there must have been a reason behind it, and a damned good one.”
The dwarf couldn’t help but chuckle, raising his gaze to meet her blue eyes. “By the Allfather, how did I manage to earn the affection of such a damned insightful and sympathetic seidkona?” he asked, then shook his head and took a sip of his mead.
Marsilia only smiled at him gently in reply and he set his goblet aside, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “What I told ye before is part of the truth, but only my father knows the full story. He’s the one who helped me figure out how best to protect Lady Vada.”
Astud swept through the air and landed on the back of his chair. He glanced at the raven before turning his attention back to Marsilia and folding his hands before himself. “Fanden. This is harder than I thought it would be.”
His seidkona leaned forward, resting her hand atop his. “I would tell you not to worry about it, that you don’t have to tell me, but Astud seems to think it’s important.”
“Because it is to
me,” he answered, meeting her gaze. “Damned spirits can see what ye need better than ye can half the time… I told myself that if ye agreed for me to court ye, I would tell ye everything, not hold anything back. First chance I got to forget that, I leapt into kissing ye and giving over to passion.
“I don’t want to have any secrets from ye, Marsilia. I want to be with ye fully, not dodging conversations or hiding parts of myself away, and that means being upfront with things I haven’t told anyone else.”
Marsilia frowned, setting her goblet aside before standing and coming over to him. Tucking her skirts under herself, she sat on the ground before him, taking his large hands in hers. Her fingers only managed to wrap halfway around his palms as she caressed the back of his hands with her thumbs. “I’m listening, Fjell.”
He tightened his grip on her hands and gave her a strained smile. Licking his lips, he thought for a moment before speaking again.
“What I told ye of hunting a dark warlock, of a warrior at my side, was the truth,” he finally said. “What I didn’t tell ye was that the warrior was my betrothed, Talulla. She was a damned fine warrior, too, and of a good family. My father paired us, but we quickly got along well and I was starting to truly fall for her.”
He hesitated, brow furrowing. “That rose carved ruby was to be a gift for her, for our wedding that never happened,” he said, raising his gaze to meet Marsilia’s again. She watched him silently in compassion, her hands still holding his, and he pressed on. “King Nibelung had begun to suspect a dark witch or warlock was interfering with our court. He tasked me to find them, to end them. Talulla insisted on joining me.
“We tracked the bastard down over the course of a couple of weeks, following hints and whispers. Even when we realized it was her father behind the entire matter, she insisted on staying by me, helping me, and I believed her.” He paused, freeing one of his hands from Marsilia’s to take a long pull of his mead.
The Blessing of Equinox Page 20
