Page 81 of Alliance Bride
Móthir turned when she noticed him. “How are you feeling?”
Aevar touched his side, ignoring the way it throbbed. “Fine.”
She gave him the same look she had when he was five and tried to convince her that he hadn’t nicked himself with Erik’s knife.
“Alys, boil water for tea,” she said over her shoulder. Then she turned back to him. “Sit. Let me see.”
He laid his sword belt on the table and grunted as he pulled off his tunic before sitting on the bench. Cool air filtered through the open door and drifted toward him, but it didn’t quite washaway the hint of blood. Voices from outside drew his attention. Fathir entered with Erik and Kian, their faces worn with fatigue.
“Where’s Braan?” Aevar asked.
“Searching the village,” Fathir said. “Jorund found tracks heading north along the river. At least six men. Possibly more. I’ve sent a raven to Halbjorn alerting them to be on the lookout. I’ll send more once we have a better idea of what happened.”
Pain flared as the bandage pulled away, and Aevar gritted his teeth.
Móthir’s lips thinned. “It’s inflamed. You need to rest, or it could worsen.”
Rest. A luxury he didn’t have.
But her expression sharpened. “I mean it.”
Kian leaned against the table, arms crossed. “I’ll make sure he does.”
His raised brow dared Aevar to argue, but he didn’t rise to the bait.
“How many did we lose?” he asked his father.
Fathir’s face was like stone, but his eyes revealed the pain of a leader who hadn’t been able to fully defend his people. “Seventeen. Five in the first strike. Twelve more in the defense. Eleven men, six women. Another dozen wounded. Some may not last the day.”
Aevar swore under his breath, squeezing his fists. Almost twenty dead in one night. Fjellheim hadn’t seen such loss since the winter sickness several years ago. And the attack made little sense. Kalgoran raiders rarely ventured so deep into Nordra unless…
Ice spread through Aevar’s veins. “Do you think they were after Eadlyn?”
“It’s possible. She’s the only thing that makes this worth the risk. They might have been trying to break the alliance.”
Aevar gripped the hilt of his sword. “So what are we going to do about it?”
“I’ll send a message north to King Drocca. If he tries to claim ignorance, fine. But another attack, and it’s war. We’ll call for aid from Talta and Essix if needed. I’ll have Gudrik place more men along the border. Maybe send some to help him.”
Aevar’s blood urged him to ride north himself, to strike now and strike hard. They had tried to kill his wife. But that would take him away from her, and he did not want to see Nordra thrown back into war if avoidable. Especially when Drocca would deny any direct involvement in the attack.
Móthir finished binding his wound as Ingvald walked in.
“My lord, we found a wounded Kalgoran.”
Fathir straightened. “Where is he?”
“Sheis in the guardhouse. Braan and Heida are questioning her.”
Aevar pushed himself up and tugged his tunic on, ignoring the way his side protested and his body moved sluggishly with the lack of sleep and blood loss. He grabbed his sword, but his mother blocked him with a mug of tea.
“Drink this first.”
He downed it in a couple of gulps. Hot and bitter, it tasted of willow bark and other painkilling herbs. He handed it back, and she gave him a look piercing enough to stitch a wound on its own.
“Take it easy.”
“I will.”
