The War of the Gods Book Two: Summer Sun
Author
Morrigan Rivers
Reads
18.2K
Chapters
93
Freya is done waiting. Ten years of longing, hoping, and pretending fate will eventually scoop her up has pushed her straight to her limit. Erik, the maddeningly noble king who keeps insisting every choice should be hers, somehow can’t stop laying his entire kingdom at her feet. She wants him to finally choose her; he wants her to choose herself first. Meanwhile, the ever-growing Ivarsson clan is bursting with new faces, old secrets, unexpected relatives, and enough chaos to make even the gods sigh. As Freya decides what her future should look like, she must face one impossible question: will she truly walk away… or admit she’s been his all along?
Chapter 1: Time Is a River
ENID
The doors creaked when they opened, a big, loud creak that spoke of how thick and old the wood in them was. Enid followed the others inside, her eyes unblinking as she watched each of the new faces in front of her and smiled. Those poor people.
She’d been like them once too, so afraid of these giants that stood with her, so terrified by everything that they were and everything that they were not. And now they were scared of her too.
She laughed lightly, tapping her fingers on the head of her ax and watching all those English men scowl and those English women whimper, but none of them looked as strained, as horrified and outraged as the man sitting on the throne.
Tyr laughed too then, his wide shoulders bouncing up and down, his long, thick bundle of braids flicking down his back. “Why are you all wearing dresses?” he asked in English.
So many of their eyes went wide then, a few loud gasps echoing through the stone hall as the king gripped the arm of his throne. Enid laughed again, this time louder, this time reaching a hand up to clutch at her side.
“This is King Alwyn,” a man near the throne said. “Show some respect.”
“King?” Tyr asked, taking a few steps forward from their group. “Shouldn’t you say queen if he’s dressed like that?”
Enid watched so many men reach for their swords, grabbing them by the hilts and glaring at Tyr as he put a foot up on one of the steps leading up to the throne. Tyr leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee and taking a quick, short breath in through his nose, almost like he was sniffing.
“Which one of you is your leader?” the king asked.
“What makes you think it’s not me?” Tyr answered.
The king glared at him, his face scrunching up in a fierce scowl, his hands clenching into fists. “I’m told his name is Erik the Wise,” he spoke through gritted teeth.
“Rude,” Tyr scoffed. “Are you saying I don’t look wise?”
He climbed the steps then, laughing at the guards who unsheathed their swords and pointed them at him. He stood in front of an old priest, the poor man shaking as he stared up at Tyr from his seat to the side of the throne.
“Get up,” Tyr said. “So the kings can speak.”
The priest looked back at King Alwyn, his eyes wide and his thin, bony hands shaking. He stood, scampering to the side and behind some of the guards. Tyr smiled, a big, wide smile as he grabbed the back of the chair.
For a moment he looked like he would sit in it, his eyebrows shooting up in a look of surprised delight before he pulled the chair, dragging and scraping it down the steps, each bang and loud squeak making every English face grow paler.
Their group parted then, Enid standing to the side and leaning against the chair, Ivar beside her, his hand resting on the head of his big ax, and then Erik sat down, his eyes unblinking as he stared at King Alwyn, a soft smile on his lips.
“It’s a nice place you have here, Alwyn,” he said in English. “Although I don’t like stone that much: too cold.” He smiled.
“Why are you—” King Alwyn started.
“And it takes too long to warm up,” Erik cut in, shrugging his shoulders. “I have a lot of land, you see? So I don’t like to stay in one place for too long.”
King Alwyn gritted his teeth, his shoulders rising as he glared at Erik. “Why are you here?” he asked.
“No real reason.” Erik smiled, cupping his hands behind his head and sitting lower in his chair. “Just some light raiding. Although.” He nodded. “We’d be willing to raid elsewhere if you could make it worth our while.”
“What do you want?” a man beside the throne asked.
“Nothing unreasonable.” Erik smiled, his head tilting to the side as he studied the man. “Five hundred pounds in gold and silver.”
The room erupted then, loud gasps and outraged moans bouncing off the stone walls and floors as Erik sat there smiling. Enid laughed again, the smile of her own now dangerously close to becoming a grin.
“You can’t expect us to—” King Alwyn started.
“Of course, I’m willing to negotiate,” Erik cut in. “It doesn’t have to be gold and silver. I’d be willing to accept land, as a gesture and a symbol of our friendship.” He nodded. “In fact, there’s a village a little south of here. I heard it has good land for farming. We’d be willing to raid elsewhere, maybe even one of your enemies, if you would hand that village over to us. York, I believe it’s called.”
“York?” King Alwyn asked. “Why would you want York?”
“Because of her, sire,” said a man then, taking a few steps forward from the crowd and nodding toward Enid. “She’s from York.”
There were so many loud whispers then, so many gasps and cries, but Enid only watched the man, her head tilting to the side and her eyes unblinking, and then she laughed, a big, loud laugh as she came to stand in front of him and grinned.
“Ah, there you are, Cormac.” Erik sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. “Don’t look at Enid like that. You have no idea how much she missed you in the beginning.”
Enid laughed again, a soft, light laugh as she put a hand on her hip. “You’re a long way from home,” she said.
“Wait, Cormac?!” Freya asked, bounding over and leaning against Enid’s shoulder. “Is that your blacksmith, Enid? I always imagined he was so much—more,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she studied Cormac.
Cormac gritted his teeth and glared at Freya in front of him.
“What’s the meaning of this, Cormac? How do you know these people?” the man beside the king asked.
“Enid and I were to be married, lord.” Cormac bowed. “Although, that was a long time ago now, maybe ten years or more. She was taken along with many other women from our village by these…Pagans. We thought they were all dead.”
“They probably are.” Erik nodded. “But Enid is one of us now, you understand?”
“Enid,” Cormac said, his voice so soft and low. “Stay here with us. We’ll help you. We’ll keep you safe and save your soul. You could devote your life to Christ and—”
“Why would she do that?” Freya asked, leaning in closer and glaring at Cormac. “Enid never forgot your Christ-god and his stupid rules. She still does that silly thing with her hands when she talks to Him.” Freya let go of Enid then, clasping her hands in prayer to show him.
Enid pushed her away, kicking at her leg with a wide swing of her boot and laughing. “At least my God doesn’t have eyes like this!” Enid said, opening her eyes wide and holding her outstretched hands beside them.
“At least my gods are real!” Freya said then, wrapping her arm around Enid’s waist and trying to roll her over her hip.
But Enid grabbed onto Freya’s shoulders, pinning her under her arm and laughing when Freya grunted.
Enid heard Erik laughing too, a light, soft laugh before he said, “No, I wouldn’t do that, Cormac. You touch either of those women in front of you, and none of us here will give you an easy death.”
Enid turned to look at Cormac then, still bent over slightly as she held Freya down, and then she let the girl go, taking a step closer to Cormac and asking, “What do you want to do to me, Cormac?”
It took him a moment to answer, his eyes narrowing into thin slits, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “I’m trying to help you, Enid. You’ve lost your way.”
“Lost my way?” Enid asked, putting her hand on her hip. “I promise you, I haven’t, but tell me…” She reached a hand out then, fixing the ties of his shirt and smoothing the fabric. “What do you want to do to me?”
Tyr laughed, a big, loud laugh that startled so many English faces in the hall. “What are you trying to do, Enid? Scare him into bed?” he asked.
Enid turned to look at Tyr and cocked her head. “I only asked him a question.”
“Gods!” Tyr gasped, shaking his head and laughing again. “You need to spend less time with Hilda.”
“Enough!” King Alwyn snapped. “Enough. I won’t pay that much gold and silver, and I won’t hand any of my land over to you Pagans. This is a Christian land, and only those anointed by God can rule it.”
“Oh, I know that.” Erik nodded, a smile springing to his lips as he stared at the king. “That’s why you’ll give the land to Enid. Freya was right. Enid never forgot your God, and she’ll rule in my place.”
Enid felt all their eyes flicking to her, the smile on her face now a grin as she stared back. She was about to laugh, about to ask them why they all looked so horrified and pale, but then she felt that sudden burn, that bolt of fire that shot up from the pit of her stomach and caught in the back of her throat.
She put her hand on her hip, trying to hide as she squeezed her stomach and tried to bite back the bile that burned her throat.
Erik stood then, so quickly and lightly, laughing softly as he led her to sit on the chair, standing behind her and rubbing her shoulders. Enid took a big breath, keeping the smile on her lips and trying to stop her hands from shaking.
“You want us to give land to your wife?” King Alwyn asked, his voice so quiet it was barely above a whisper.
“Oh gods!” Erik gasped. “Enid is not my wife! No, no—” He shook his head, leaning down until his chin was resting on the bundle of braids on the top of her head. “No, I don’t think I could ever handle Enid. She’s too strong, see? Too smart.” He tapped at her temple. “No, Enid will stay here and rule York with her husband, Ivar the Deathless.”
He took a step back then, placing a hand on Ivar’s shoulder and smiling at King Alwyn.
“Deathless?” King Alwyn asked, his shoulders rising and his hands gripping the arms of his throne. “My land was raided a few years back by a man named Ivar the Deathless.”
“Really?” Erik asked, looking at Ivar. “Is this where you went, Ivar?”
Ivar shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s hard to ask for directions. Everyone screams too loud when they see the boats.”
Enid did manage a laugh then, the burning waning a little when she heard Ivar speak and felt his hand on her shoulder. His grip was soft and warm, but just strong enough to warn her.
They had to finish this soon. Just a little more and Ivar would snap. She could feel it in the way his hand shook, in the way the heat behind her was almost too warm, like he had suddenly come alight.
“So.” Erik smiled. “You see, there’s no problem. You can either pay the gold and silver or hand over the land to Enid, and don’t think that you can hurt her,” he said, and suddenly each one of their group reached for their ax or sword.
“She’s one of us now, one of my people. If you decide to give her the land, which is my suggestion, you will honor and respect her and her family. All of them speak for me,” he said then, his voice so cold and sharp. “And I will know if you have disrespected any of them.”
“We will not have this,” King Alwyn said, his face a tight scowl as he glared at Erik. “You cannot come—”
“Think about it,” Erik cut in. “I don’t want your answer now, Alwyn. Take the evening. We’ll come back in the morning, and you can tell us your answer then. Hmm?”
