Page 22 of The Savage Queen

“Give me your name,” Dagfin demanded, growing more impatient.

“Should I say I’m the chieftain of Fjallnorr, Sigewulf IX, and first among equals: would that suffice to spare my life?” The stranger grinned crookedly, a smile that forewarned deceit.

Dagfin hesitated, his grip on the dagger shifting.

“Perhaps it’ll only justify your death,” Starn said, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. “Considering you’ve just attempted to murder four Tilrish princes.”

“You don’t include your sister?” the stranger asked. “Or do you not consider her blood anymore?”

Starn worked his jaw, deigning to turn in Aisling’s direction.

“Enough,” Dagfin fumed. “If we’re to believe you’re the chieftain of Fjallnorr, what is it you want with Aisling?”

“If I am Sigewulf, isn’t it each of you who should be answering to me? Considering you’ve trespassed on my land, avoided my ports, and wandered through my forests. You’re fortunate I didn’t immediately slit each of your throats while you slept.”

Fergus gulped, surveying the dead for the first time, limply strewn across the forest floor.

Killian released a grim laugh. “Perhaps you would’ve, had you not anticipated twoFaeraksin their company. So now, with only the trees to bear witness—land you know as well as the Fjallnorrians is no land of man’s—it’s a blade that decides sovereignship. And right now, chieftain or not, you’re in no position of power.”

The supposed chieftain of Fjallnorr nodded his head, digesting Killian’s words, the tip of his bolt, and the edge of Dagfin’s dagger. Each of his men was paralyzed into submission until their leader was freed. Expressions hidden behind bleeding streaks of paint.

“Free her,” Sigewulf commanded his men. They hesitated, glaring at their leader for a second too long, forcing him to repeat himself. “Free her!”

Two men rushed to unlock and unwrap Aisling’s shackles.

The relief as soon as the iron was lifted was euphoric. Every morsel of bodily strength returned to Aisling in a single breath as the chains fell away and onto the cold dirt. Thedraiochtgasping for air, after nearly drowning in a magicless cavern.

Aisling cracked her neck from side to side, baring her teeth at the chieftain with renewed rage. He wasn’t the first man of royal blood to either bind her or attempt to, but Aisling would ensure he was the last.

Before she could think more of it, Aisling traced a circle in the air and summoned a halo of fire above Sigewulf’s head. A dangling threat should he not comply. Starn shifted but this time said nothing, grinding his frustration between his teeth.

“Ash,” Dagfin warned, but Aisling ignored him.

“What is it you want with me?” she asked, studying the beads of sweat glistening atop Sigewulf’s forehead with the threat of her flames. For the first time, Sigewulf’s face went slack with apprehension. He swallowed, the muscles in his throat bobbing. A mighty chieftain made fearful in her presence.

Aisling’s lips curled, unable to resist the satisfaction such fear bred.

“What does any man want with something coveted, rare, and valuable?” he asked in return, watching every nuance of her expression. “He wants to claim it for himself.”

With swift ease, Dagfin shoved Sigewulf into the body of a pine, tearing apart Aisling’s enchantment. His strength alarming.

Dagfin poised the dagger’s tip beneath the chieftain’s chin, pointing it as though he’d shove it past his mouth and into his skull.

“Come now,Faerak. You can’t condemn me for the sins we share.”

“Give me one reason not to plunge this blade up your throat.”

“Other than your vows to protect man from beast?” the chieftain taunted. “For one, you might find me useful in locating the curse breaker.”

Silence rippled throughout the camp, nothing but the chuckling midnight trees interrupting each of their thoughts. Mention of the curse breaker was risky, especially from the mouth of a chieftain, king, or laird. Indeed, every man or fae alive was in pursuit of the curse breaker once its existence was spoken into the northern winds at the last fae and mortal union. To name it again was to declare oneself a competitor.

“I know these lands blind, how the trees shift and move, how the night stretches at odd hours, stealing from the daylight. How the mountains will play tricks on your mind.”

Iarbonel visibly shuddered, exchanging nervous glances with Fergus.

“You need me,” Sigewulf said.

Dagfin shifted, weighing the chieftain’s words while Sigewulf’s men awaited the release of their leader. Their white-blonde hair dyed gold by the light of their torches.

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