Blood Moon| The Last Kingdom| Sihtric Kjartansson

TWENTY-ONE

☾

"Lady Gyda, I am glad to see you again," Father Beocca greeted us with a small smile, rising from the bench as we entered the hall.

"You know him?" Olav grunted under his breath, stopping at the doors with Derya and Arya.

"Somewhat," I mumbled, taking a few steps away from him to be beside Saga before acknowledging the priest. "It is nice to see you as well. How is Thyra?"

"I am well," a soft voice pipped up from beside Uhtred, and I moved my eyes to her smiling face. Her burns now healed over.

I nodded curtly, "Praise the Gods."

"Praise God," Thyra agreed, her smile lowering slightly, "I came to wish my condolences."

I swallowed, placing my hands behind my back and straightening out, "Thank you."

Another priest was in the room as well. He was older than Beocca, uglier too. He looked as if he had never starved a day in his life, and sweat dripped off him in patches.

"This is Father Wigberht," Beocca answered the questions he could see on my face, "he is one of the King's personal priests."

Saga snorted quietly, muttering under her breath, "They have sent the worst of the worst."

"We saw more men riding," I tried to ignore her, "about six."

Beocca's face fell slightly, and the tension in the room grew as Beocca straightened out, clasping his hands in front of him. "The King... is concerned about how you will receive his word."

Saga rolled her eyes so violently that I did not need to look at her to sense it.

"So the others are soldiers?" Olav's question held ice, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

"They will not attack you," Uhtred spoke up, "I swear it on my honour."

"I would trust your words more if you swore on your blade," Saga spat, turning her head to him.

Uhtred eyed us carefully before he slowly raised his hand to his sword, Serpent's breath, and pulled her out. He set her on top of the table, his palm still covering her handle, "I swear no one will attack you."

"But the soldiers will have you arrested if you disobey us," a nasally voice spoke out, and my head snapped to Father Wigberht.

"Father Wigberht, please," Beocca sighed, turning to him, "there is no need for threats."

"They are Danes," Father Wigberht scoffed, "his Royal Highness is already being too good simply letting them live."

"Why don't you step closer to me, old man?" Saga dared the priest, stepping forward and pulling her axe out, "And say that again."

"I have the King's protection!" Father Wigberht snapped.

"And I have my Gods!" Saga belted so loud the walls shook, her voice piercing our bones and engraving into our minds. 

Olav stepped forward, his hands settling on Saga's tense shoulders, pulling her back slightly. He said nothing, but his hand covered hers that held the axe.