Page 103 of Alliance Bride
Behind him, the soft clatter of gear and murmur of men told him the others were settling in for another night. He caught snatches of voices—grim, weary, and too quiet. He didn’t need to hear the words to know what they were saying. The pity had grown more visible each day. Some of the men had begun to speak in the abstract now.Ifthey found her.Whenthey reached Kalgora.What next, in case the worst had already happened. His brothers and Kian never spoke like that, but Aevar read the worry in their faces, the weight of time pressing on all of them.
Footsteps approached. Aevar turned his head as Fathir came to stand beside him. The older man’s face was lined with weariness and years of hard leadership, but his eyes still held strength and something akin to hope.
“We will get her back.”
Aevar looked away, blinking. Each day made that harder and harder to believe. “It’s been over a week. We still haven’t caught up.”
“They’re growing careless. Jorund believes we can overtake them tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
Another night Eadlyn was at the whims and mercy of whoever had taken her. And if not tomorrow, they were running out oftime. In two days, they’d reach the border of Kalgora. He would march straight to King Drocca’s throne if he had to, but even then, would she survive long enough to be found?
Fathir must have sensed the doubts. He put his hand on Aevar’s shoulder, squeezing it firmly. “You will not lose another wife.”
He wanted to believe that, but what if tomorrow was too late? What if tonight was the last she had? And even if they got her back, would things ever be the same? He dug his fingers into his belt, trying to anchor himself to something solid.
“What if they’ve already hurt her? What if…” He couldn’t finish the thought. The words tasted like blood in his mouth.
“Then you will love her. And we will help her heal. Whatever has been done can be endured. But we are not too late. Not yet.” He stared out into the gloom, his voice quieter now. “And perhaps her God will protect her.”
Aevar stood motionless, pierced by those words.
Her God.
The One she read to him about at night. The One she prayed to at the fjord’s edge every morning.
For days now, his heart had been a battlefield. Half cursing the gods who had failed him, half whispering desperate prayers to the One Eadlyn called Father. And somewhere along the road, between hoofbeats and unanswered prayers, his loyalty to the old gods had died. Maybe it had been dying for years.
He couldn’t take another breath in the camp. Not under the weight of so many eyes. Not with the war in his mind.
“I’ll be back,” he muttered, turning.
Fathir didn’t stop him.
He walked with no direction, no plan. The forest stretched before him, darker now, the trunks blurring together. The farther he went, the more his thoughts surged, questions, fears, and guilt crashing against each other like waves in a storm.
Would he ever find her?
Would he even recognize her when he did?
Would she still be his?
The forest opened to a narrow river, dark and glassy under the half-hidden moon. Aevar stopped at the edge, breath ragged, limbs trembling, not from exhaustion, but from holding everything in.
Memories clawed their way forward. Thora’s body in his arms, her soul slipping into silence. Brenna, so small and still. Prayers offered to Odin and Freyja and anyone who might listen. Pleas made with blood and sacrifice and tears.
Nothing had come.
No signs. No answers. Just silence.
He reached for the pendant around his neck, the one he’d worn since childhood. Thor’s hammer. The old symbol of strength and storm and fury. He closed his fingers around the cool metal, but there was no strength in it. No fury that could help him now.
He yanked it off, the leather cord snapping with a soft pop. The pendant sat heavy in his palm. Lifeless. A lie. If Eadlyn and her Holy Book were right, then all the prayers he’d offered to the gods in his lifetime had been empty requests thrown into the wind. Pleas that went unheard by creations of men. Words that accomplished nothing and saved no one.
He didn’t even know when or how he had truly started listening those nights Eadlyn had read to him, but the realization struck him like lightning from heaven. He believed it. He believed her.The gods were not real. They could not help him, and they could not help Eadlyn.
Aevar looked at the pendant one more time and flung it into the river. The silver arc caught the last light and vanished beneath the black surface with a small splash. He stood motionless for a moment before sinking to his knees on the damp earth.
