Page 39 of The Crown of the Last Fae Queen
“Don’t be soft on her.” Agnarr crossed his toned arms over his chest. Freyja was easily a head shorter than him, and she was a tall woman. “You are not one to be lenient.”
Freyja eyed the bruise on his face, and instead of scowling at him like Kolfinna thought she would do, her gaze softened. “I understand, but she will need her strength to wield theDød Sværd.”
“You don’t look beat up at all,” Rakel said, but it took Kolfinna a moment to realize she was talking to Freyja, whodidn’t sport a single bruise or cut, as opposed to Agnarr’s discolored face. A laugh twisted her features. “Oh, you really did a number on Agnarr. I wish I could have seen it.”
Freyja’s own lips rose into a smile. “I could have beaten him worse, but I felt bad after the third punch.”
Agnarr’s tongue flicked out to the cut on his lip, and Kolfinna expected him to glare at the woman, but his gaze kept skimming over her figure, distracted.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
Freyja blinked up at him. “Nowhere. Why?”
“You’re not dressed in uniform.”
Kolfinna stared at the graceful dress. Freyja looked beautiful in it, and she suspected that this was what a proper woman looked like in a dress—beautiful enough to make even a man like Agnarr, who seemed to loathe her, stare in awe.
Freyja pushed back a lock of wavy hair behind her sharp ear, and the movement made him stare at her neck, which her hand lightly fluttered over before dropping to her side. “Yes, I know, but there are days when a woman wants to feel like a woman. Dressing in armor and leathers all day gets tiresome. You wouldn’t understand.”
He frowned, and Rakel looped her arm around the other woman’s shoulders. “Yes, yes. I agree,” she said. “But let’s not get too sidetracked. If Commander Alfaer sees us chitchatting like this, and not training, he’ll have all of our asses?—”
Too late.
Kolfinna felt his presence before she saw him. The heavy, oppressive mana made her flinch back and whirl on her feet. Vidar walked toward them slowly, his wings spread behind him in two swathes of darkness, and his red eyes peering at her through his black helmet. In his hand was theDød Sværd. She would recognize its thrumming power anywhere, but in Vidar’s hands, it seemed to be tame.
He stopped several feet away from them, his gaze flicking to the four of them. His three generals lowered their heads in respect.
“You should be training her,” he said pointedly at Agnarr. “What happened?”
“I beat her, twice. Maybe a bit harder than I should have, and she’s recuperating.” Agnarr lifted his shoulders; he clearly didn’t look as concerned as the other two women did. “We were warming up before you got here.”
“I see.” Vidar shifted his attention to Kolfinna. “Are you well?”
She straightened, suddenly feeling nauseous standing so close to the cursed sword. “I am.”
“Here.” He held the blade out toward her. It was just like she remembered it to be—a black hilt, the blade a darker shade of sin, and the energy more corrupt than she could ever handle.
Kolfinna reflexively took a step back, not wanting to be near it. Panic swelled in her chest. She didn’t want to touch it. She didn’t even want to look at it. She was still haunted by the way the blade had forced her to attack everyone. How she had slaughtered fae soldiers without meaning to, the sword forcing her movements, making her a slave to its bloodthirsty desires.
Her stomach clenched tightly, another wave of nausea hitting her.
“Take it.” His tone was steely.
There was no room to argue, but she couldn’t help fear that thrummed over her. “Please,” she whispered, staring at the sword like it might attack her. “I can’t?—”
“You can and you will.” Vidar held the sword out for her once more, taking a step closer. “Take the sword, Kolfinna.”
12
TWELVE – KOLFINNA
Nausea rolledover Kolfinna like waves, each hitting her stronger than the last, until she could taste the bitter bile clawing up her throat. Her hands trembled as she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the sword. Vidar stepped away just as a powerful surge of dark energy burst into her body. She inhaled sharply, trying to release the cursed weapon, but it remained in her hand, refusing to go. She backed away again, her body trembling as more evil magic poured into her being.
It’s been a long, long time, Kolfinna, a voice murmured in her mind.
Her spine stiffened and she bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming. She remembered that voice—had been haunted by its call for violence, blood, and death.
“Let me go!” Her voice came out shrill as she tried to chuck the sword from her hand, but it remained in place, her fingers fastened around the worn leather hilt.
