king, and when he reached her side, Ghisla stood over him, guarding his back as he crouched beside Banruud.
Ghost had begun to weep. Alba too. Bleak, stunned faces, blood-streaked and coated in ashy grime, surrounded them. No one rejoiced at the king’s death, and no one argued its justice.
“Who are you?” Bayr asked. “You fought beside us . . . but I do not know you.” His words were slow, careful, the way they’d always been, but he did not stumble over a single word.
“He is the confidant of Gudrun and henchman of the king.” It was the captain of the king’s guard who accused Hod; he feared his fate would be the same as Banruud’s.
A rumble of agreement swelled among some of the sentries and clansmen.
“He sailed with Gudrun and guarded the king,” a warrior of Berne protested.
“But he fought with us,” Dred said.
“I was with him on the wall,” another man vouched. He was the archer Ghisla had seen with the rune.
“But who are you?” Bayr repeated softly, still gazing at Hod, and Hod answered without argument or defense.
“I am called Blind Hod. I was an apprentice to Arwin, the cave keeper of Leok. And I am the devoted servant of Ghisla of Tonlis, Liis of Leok.”
Ghisla’s sisters gasped, and Ghisla held her breath, but Bayr simply waited for him to continue.
“I am also the son of Bronwyn of Berne . . . and the late Banruud.”
A hiss snapped and sizzled among the small crowd, but Dred of Dolphys raised his sword to the sky, as if signaling his support.
“And I am elder brother of Bayr of Dolphys, the rightful king,” Hod finished.
“Bayr of Dolphys, the rightful king,” Dred boomed, and the men of Dolphys raised their swords beside him.
From Banruud’s lolling head Hod slipped the amulet of the king, the one he’d used to burn Ghisla’s hand, the one that had been passed down through all the rulers of Saylok. Hod rose, swaying but solemn, and drew it over Bayr’s matted, blood-soaked hair.
“You have always been the rightful king, brother. The Highest Keeper knew it when you were brought to him the day of your birth. And our father knew it too. It destroyed him, but it did not destroy you.”
“Long live the Temple Boy,” Alba said, tears streaming down her dusty cheeks.
“Long live the Dolphys,” Dakin cried.
“Long live King Bayr,” Ghost choked, her bloody blade raised in agreement.
“Long live Baldr and Hod,” Ghisla whispered.
And Hod stepped back and reached for her hand.
EPILOGUE
He had not grown accustomed to happiness; mayhaps he never would. He and Ghisla had said their vows at the altar uncovered from the rubble of the temple, and King Bayr had pronounced them man and wife, though he’d stumbled over Ghisla’s name. She would always be Liis of Leok to Bayr and her sisters, and she answered to both. She did not want to return to Tonlis, though he’d offered to take her. He was confident he could make his way across the sea now, especially with her eyes to guide him.
“This is my home. You are my home,” she said without hesitation, and he had vowed to make it a good one.
They’d been given a room in the palace—a room for honored guests—though he would have been happy in the little chamber by the stairs. Ghisla had never had a room of her own or even a space of her own, and she had easily adjusted to the order he required.
“I find it amazing that you can hear when I am hungry but you trip over my shoes,” she teased him.
The palace was teeming, but they had a corner to themselves. A happy, glorious corner. It was all he’d ever wanted.
He’d been welcomed by all and shunned by none, though Ghost had reservations. She was mourning. She had made herself Highest Keeper, and she worked tirelessly day after day, but her heart was broken. She did not trust Hod—his strangeness was too much like her own—and Master Ivo’s suspicions, and probably Dagmar’s too, had colored her view of him.
He’d been raised up to be a keeper, and he offered to assist in preserving and cataloging the rubble of the temple. He knew the names of the runes and how to draw and unlock them, but Ghost was not ready for his companionship or his counsel, and Hod kept his distance. He was not even certain he cared whether the runes were preserved.
It was a conundrum; to rebuild without understanding the past—both the triumphs