Chapter 6
The western gate should have held thirty men.
It held four bodies.
No battle.
No broken lock.
The bar had been lifted from inside.
Rurik saw it and stopped speaking.
For the first time since Yara knew him, the king had no command ready.
Below, Hrafnmark warriors flowed through the outer district.
Not yet the inner city.
The alarm had sounded in time.
Skeld’s western militia formed barricades across market streets.
Einar’s flagship turned toward the inlet and fired warning arrows into Vargan’s leading boats.
Enemy fighting enemy.
Brother against father.
Citizens had no idea which raven wanted them dead.
Yara carried Leif into the stone keep.
He cried for Rurik.
The king could not come.
Aurelia? no, different. Sigrid followed.
She wore armor.
No war hammer.
Yara noticed.
Sigrid did too.
“I am not touching one near him again.”
Good.
Leif reached toward her.
Not for arms.
For the leather strap on her shoulder.
Sigrid let him touch it.
Nothing more.
Outside, horns roared.
Captain Sten directed defenders.
Freydis took a position on the western tower with Skeld archers, shouting Hrafnmark commands back at advancing units to confuse them.
Jarl Orm finally became useful by doing exactly what everyone expected.
He charged a barricade with three hundred clan warriors and held it.
Rurik fought on foot.
Yara hated that.
Not because kings should not fight.
Because he had spent all night learning the danger of being symbol and still stood where one arrow could create five civil wars.
She told him so through a messenger.
The reply came:
YARA IS NOT KING.
She sent back:
THAT IS WHY YARA STILL HAS SENSE.
No reply.
Sigrid laughed for the first time all day.
Then the inner keep doors shook.
Everyone froze.
Not enemy.
A palace guard entered.
“Lady Sigrid.”
“What?”
“War Treasurer Osric found.”
Rurik was not there.
Sten was fighting.
Yara looked at Sigrid.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Temple cellar.”
Sigrid’s face hardened.
“With silver?”
“No.”
That surprised them.
“With High Priest Halvar.”
There it was.
One of Thyra’s old suspects.
Sigrid stood.
“I am going.”
Yara said, “No.”
Sigrid glared.
“You do not command me.”
“No.”
Yara shifted Leif.
“But if Osric wants the king’s sister angry, you are perfect.”
Sigrid stared.
That hit.
She breathed.
“Then you come.”
“I stay with Leif.”
“Thyra can—”
“No.”
Thyra stood nearby.
She did not protest.
Good.
Sigrid looked frustrated.
Then Freydis entered from the stair.
Blood on her sleeve.
Not hers.
“What?”
Sigrid told her.
Freydis smiled grimly.
“I’ll go.”
Yara almost objected.
Then considered.
Freydis had no internal family shame Osric could pull.
Only external enemies.
Sigrid said, “I trust you less.”
“Excellent.”
They went with guards.
Yara remained.
From the keep windows, she watched fire catch in the western market.
Not large yet.
Citizens formed bucket lines.
The Hrafnmark warriors did not burn randomly.
Interesting.
They moved toward specific streets.
Barracks.
Treasury road.
Temple.
The invasion had targets.
Not total destruction.
Leif whispered, “Papa.”
Yara kissed his hair.
“He is fighting.”
“Papa no.”
“I know.”
She hated lying by tone.
She did not know if Rurik was safe.
A runner arrived.
“King wounded.”
Her blood froze.
“How?”
“Arrow.”
“Where?”
“Shoulder.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Inside?”
“Refuses.”
Of course.
Yara nearly screamed.
“Tell him Leif is asking.”
The runner left.
Ten minutes later Rurik entered.
Pale.
Arrow removed.
Blood soaking bandage.
He looked furious.
“At you.”
Yara smiled.
“Good.”
“You used my son.”
“I told you he asked.”
“He did?”
Leif reached.
“Papa.”
Rurik’s face broke.
He sat.
The boy crawled into his lap.
Rurik winced from the shoulder.
Did not let go.
Yara said, “Now stay.”
“I cannot.”
“You can for ten minutes.”
“I am king.”
“You are bleeding.”
He stared.
Then stayed.
Outside, the battle noise shifted.
Fewer horns.
More shouting.
Rurik listened.
“That is not retreat.”
Yara frowned.
“What?”
“Hrafnmark regroup.”
A guard entered.
“King.”
“Report.”
“Einar landed.”
Rurik stood too quickly.
Leif cried.
He sat again.
“Where?”
“West quay.”
“Enemy?”
The guard looked confused.
“He is fighting Vargan’s men.”
Rurik laughed once.
“Of course.”
The guard continued.
“He requests entry to inner keep.”
Sigrid was not there.
Freydis had not returned.
Rurik looked at Yara.
“No.”
She blinked.
“I said nothing.”
“You had that look.”
“What look?”
“The one where you think I should do something stupid because it might be correct.”
Yara almost smiled.
“Meet him at gate. Not inside.”
Rurik sighed.
“Yes.”
Einar arrived beneath a white banner.
Tall.
Broad.
Hair braided with iron rings.
He removed his sword before entering the gate court.
That mattered.
Sigrid returned at the same moment.
She saw him.
Stopped.
Thirteen years disappeared from her face.
Einar stopped too.
No one moved.
Then he said:
“You grew mean.”
Sigrid slapped him.
Hard.
Einar touched his cheek.
“Good.”
Yara stared.
Apparently every noble family communicated through striking.
Sigrid’s eyes filled.
“You let him brand me.”
Einar’s face changed.
“I was seventeen.”
“So was I.”
“You were fourteen.”
“Exactly.”
He lowered his head.
“I know.”
Sigrid wanted anger.
He gave her agreement.
That seemed worse.
She turned away.
Rurik said, “We do this later.”
Einar looked at him.
“You look like Father described.”
“That is not a compliment.”
“No.”
Rurik nodded toward the west.
“Why is Vargan here?”
“To take Leif.”
The answer came cleanly.
Yara held the child tighter.
Einar continued.
“He wants the boy alive.”
“Why?”
“Regency.”
Freydis had said the same.
Einar looked at Sigrid.
“Father still claims the old marriage oath.”
“It never existed.”
“I know.”
“He knows.”
“No.”
Sigrid frowned.
Einar’s face hardened.
“He believes force makes law.”
Rurik said, “And Osric?”
Einar looked surprised.
“Alive?”
“For now.”
“What about him?”
“You know him?”
Einar’s expression changed.
“That name.”
Everyone leaned in.
“What?”
“Father paid a Skeld treasurer for years.”
Silence.
“Name?”
“I never knew.”
Yara felt the pieces align.
“Osric.”
“Maybe.”
Again.
Sigrid groaned.
Einar continued.
“The man delivered harbor schedules, grain counts, gate rotations.”
Rurik’s face hardened.
“Opened the western gate.”
“Likely.”
“Likely.”
Einar smiled faintly.
“You have learned caution.”
“Painfully.”
Sigrid asked, “What does Vargan do if he gets Leif?”
Einar looked at her.
“Crowns him.”
Rurik laughed.
“He is already heir.”
“Not king.”
Silence.
Yara’s stomach tightened.
“To crown Leif, Rurik must be dead.”
Einar nodded.
“Or declared dead.”
Rurik stared.
Einar continued.
“Father plans to take the hall, raise Leif above the clans, claim you fell in battle, and rule as protector through Sigrid’s broken oath.”
Sigrid’s face went white.
“He would make me regent?”
“No.”
Einar looked at her wrist.
“He would make you proof.”
The mark.
The old forced betrothal.
A story.
Again.
Sigrid whispered, “And who rules?”
“Father.”
Rurik said, “Then why attack through the west instead of killing me with Osric inside?”
Einar’s face tightened.
“Because Osric failed.”
Everyone went still.
“What failed?” Yara asked.
Einar looked at Rurik’s bandage.
“The arrow.”
Rurik’s face darkened.
“That was Osric’s?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“An archer inside your militia.”
Silence.
Einar continued.
“Father told me three killings were prepared.”
“Three?”
“Arrow. Poisoned mead. Falling beam in the hall.”
Yara’s blood went cold.
Rurik said, “How do you know?”
“I was in Father’s war tent two nights ago.”
“And you waited until now?”
Einar’s eyes hardened.
“I was trying to keep his fleet away.”
“Your fleet.”
“I took half.”
Freydis entered behind him.
“Enough.”
Everyone turned.
She looked at Rurik.
“Osric confessed to opening the western gate.”
There.
One piece.
Sigrid stared.
“And Ash Hand?”
Freydis shook her head.
“He says he served Ash Hall but was never Ash Hand.”
Rurik looked exhausted.
“Of course.”
“Halvar?”
“Claims innocence.”
“Believable?”
“No.”
Yara asked, “What did Osric want?”
Freydis’s mouth tightened.
“Power.”
Too simple.
“More.”
“He says Vargan promised him treasury control under the new regency.”
Sigrid laughed bitterly.
“He sold Skeld for the job he already had.”
Freydis nodded.
“He thought Rurik would replace him after the war.”
Rurik stared.
“I was.”
Silence.
Yara almost laughed.
Fear of losing power had created the betrayal meant to preserve it.
Einar said, “Where is Vargan now?”
No one knew.
That frightened him.
“He entered the city.”
Rurik frowned.
“You are sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“My father does not watch conquest from a hill.”
Sigrid’s face hardened.
“He wants the hall.”
“Yes.”
Yara looked toward the ceiling.
The hidden room beneath the throne.
The old Ash Hall.
“If he knows the old passages…”
Rurik understood.
“The throne room.”
They ran.
Too late again.
The great hall doors stood open.
No guards.
Smoke drifted.
The throne was empty.
But someone had carved a Split Raven into its back.
Fresh.
Under it, one line:
BRING THE CHILD BELOW.
Yara felt sick.
Rurik stared at the hidden floor seam beneath the throne.
The Ash Hall entrance was open.
Einar whispered:
“He is not asking you to surrender the prince.”
Sigrid looked at him.
“What then?”
“He is telling you where he is.”
Rurik drew his sword.
Yara grabbed his wrist.
“No.”
He stared.
“You are not going down there.”
“He wants me.”
“He wants you angry.”
“Same thing.”
Yara looked at Sigrid.
She understood.
Vargan built power from people doing exactly what fear told them.
May you like
Sigrid said quietly:
“Then for once, brother, disappoint him.”
