Page 77 of The Last Valkyrie

Chapter 25

Ravinica

“WHAT ARE THE ODDS YOUthink your mother tries to poison our food, eh?” Sven asked with a grimace as he lifted his spoon and let the brown stew slop down into his bowl. “Did youseethe look on that woman’s face when you told her?”

I chuckled, shaking my head.

“Eyes that could cut glass,” Magnus murmured, drawing more amused smiles from the guys.

“My mother’s fish stew is legendary around here,” I told Sven, shouldering him. “You’ll love it.”

“. . . Shortly before it kills me.”

I scoffed, slapping his arm.

Sven sat next to me at the table, with Korvan to my right. Villagers had brought over a large, rectangular table outside our longhouse for the feast, as well as chairs. Others brought cauldrons of food, platters of fruit and vegetables, and tried their best to make it as welcoming and hearty as possible.

It all smelled lovely, and it smelled like home. I never got this sort of treatment from my bigoted neighbors when I’d lived here. It was a big deal with the Gothi coming in town, shirking his big-time responsibilities up in Vikingrune Academy to pay homage to the little folk.

We sat at the table with Hallan at the head and Lindi at the other end. Next to Hallan, going down his left in line, sat Gothi Sigmund, Swordbaron Korvan, me, Sven, Arne, and Corym.

Ma apparently wanted to sit near Corym to ask him all about Alfheim, which I found funny. She hadn’t said a word after I told her the truth of the situation, that I’d fallen in love with our enemies. She’d simply nodded, a forlorn expression on her face, and walked outside.

I assumed the discussion was not over, and she’d lambast me more in private later this evening.

Going down Hallan’s right sat Thane Canute across from Sigmund, Damon paired with Korvan, Grim paired with me, Magnus across from Arne, and Eirik at the end across from Corym, next to Ma. One seat was empty between Eirik and Magnus.

The villagers ran off after helping us set up and erecting four torchlight poles to give us some warmth and light. The moon was weak tonight, the clouds strong as another storm looked imminent. A few villagers loitered nearby, eager to stay close and get a good look at the “royal procession” that had shown up on their doorstep.

Food was doled out shortly after, a rustling of grubby hands and clanking bowls as arms reached, fingers grabbed, and we began to eat.

The small talk died. All of us from theGray Wraithwere ravenous. As light conversation became hushed, my mother cleared her throat and gained everyone’s attention while we feasted.

She put her spoon down, clasping her hands together on the table. “What is this I hear about a letter proclaiming my sickness, Sigmund?”

“Hmm?” he asked, lifting his head while chewing off a piece of bread.

Ma’s face darkened. I wondered if it was best to talk business out in the open like this, while we were eating.Isn’t there a timeand place for that? Like a secretive conference meetingafterwe stuff our bellies?

She seemed more urgent these days—eager to get her words out and discern the truth, rather than hiding in the shadows like she used to.

“The letter,” she grunted. “You know I never wrote one. I never sent one. I can only think of one person at this table who would have the motive to do such a thing.”

Gothi Sigmund put on a good poker face, playing the part of bewildered nobody well, rather than a diabolical accomplice. “I have no idea what you’re talking about or insinuating, Lindi.”

Any whispers or clattering plates from before hushed in an instant. All eyes looked up, between the two. Tension fell over the table immediately. It was an abrupt change to the climate.

I felt suddenlyoff. Wrong about things. Furrowing my brow, I thought,We came here for a purpose. That purpose was my mother being sick. Yet we’ve joked around the few hours we’ve been here, other than when I mentioned my botched assassination job.

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