Ashes to Stardust | Sihtric Kjartansson

Chapter 16: The Training Square

Uh ohhhh, Starlight is nottt happy. Is it rightfully so? Leave your feedback and thoughts in the comments below ❤️❤️

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Dawn's first light pierces through brooding mist, casting a honeyed glow across the sprawling grounds of Tettenhall's Manor. The crunch of gravel under feet echoes in the still morning, punctuated by the rhythmic thud of Sihtric's daggers clanking against his leather-clad back. I follow into step behind him as we make our way across the grounds, throwing venom into his back with each stride forward. I barely managed to pull myself from my mattress this morning, unsure if I'd be able to be in his presence without ripping him apart. Hate is consuming every fibre of my being, it nearly resulted in stabbing him with my fork at breakfast. If the table wasn't so obnoxiously large I would've lunged at him and torn his throat out.

Wait, I ordered myself. Wait for training, and you can cut him to pieces then.

He didn't so much as spare a glance at me at breakfast, but silently brooded through each and every sloppy spoonful of porridge he scooped into his filthy mouth. What he could possibly have to be so irritable about, I have no idea. Good. I hope he is miserable.

We make our way to the open training square behind the manor which has clearly been built for the use of Aelwyn's guards, lacking any sort of common Dane weaponry. The weapons-cart to the left of the yard shows no sign of hammers, shields, spears. Only finely made steel swords.

Before we can make the way onto the yard atop the hill, Aelwyn's fiery brother from the tavern, Æthelwulf—I had heard her call him last night at dinner—strides towards us with a fierce determination and a band of men at his back. Blocking the arched entrance, the men halt behind their commander forming a formidable wall, defiantly crossing their arms over chests. Æthelwulf's fiery red hair seems to glow brighter in the morning light, matching the simmering challenge in his piercing eyes.

The familiar predatory gaze snags on me. "What's her business here."

I give him a secretive smile before aiming a calculated response at both him and my shield. "Witchcraft."

Sihtric's head whips toward me and I could swear that he mutteres a plea to Odin above before he cuts in, "What my woman does is none of your concern." The words held enough of a bite that even I glance at Sihtric's stone-cold face. "She will be training here. Step aside."

I want nothing more than to shove him off the edge of a cliff.

Æthelwulf's face curdles into a cruel sneer. "Any weapons she touches must be buried afterward. Leave them in a pile."

I blink. Sihtric's nostrils flare. "We will do no such thing."

Æthelwulf sniffs toward me, his cronies snickering. "She is a witch" he taunts, his words laced with disgust. "Any woman is generally not be allowed to touch the weapons at all, then alone that."

My hands ball into fists at my sides and I make myself pause. Contemplating the best way to knock the prick to the ground.

Sihtric rests his hands casually on the hilt of his sword and says with remarkable steadiness, "She can touch the weapons whether she is a woman or not. We are Dane and do not follow the bullshit superstitions of your God."

"She can," Æthelwulf says, gaze shifting between us, "but they will still be buried. Regardless if she is a witch, she's still a Heathen."

Silence falls. I don't fail to note that Sihtric's expression has darkened as he takes a step forward and stares down at Æthelwulf. But he says abruptly, "Did your sister have a satisfying evening?"