Painted Blade || sihtric

Bonus.

   TEARS silently streamed down the young woman's face as she held her sword tight in her hand, feeling her heart cave at the sight of her father weeping, holding her mother in his arms while her brothers rushed toward them.

"No, Mother!" Baldor screamed in pain, throwing his sword away before dropping beside his mother.

"Mama! Please, come back!" Njål begged, tripping over his own feet before he quickly scrambled back onto his feet.

Finan ran toward the group of them from the other side of the field, shouting Bemia's name with his voice breaking, his heart on his sleeve.

At the sight of Espen falling to his knees with a shout of aching grief, Katja turned away, storming straight toward Bebbanburg with a fiery rage burning along her skin, entering her glowering heart

For years, Katja had begged the Gods to bring her parents together again, to be in love like the stories she had been told by her uncles since she could walk. And they were finally together, excited to be remarried and continue their shared life—a life Katja always prayed for.

Now that was all gone, taken from her hands. Taken from her brothers, uncles, and her father who she wished could be given the world.

The young woman didn't know what she was going to do but she did know that the anger brewing in her body was an anger her mother often had during battle. A weapon, of sorts. It was a weapon that Katja knew she had to use soon before she shattered with grief that threatened to consume her.

"They're retreating!" Aethelstan shouted with a smile before he turned around, any glee falling from his face at the sight of Katja storming toward him with her light pink gown covered in mud and blood, tears straining her face. "Princess?" he worriedly called out, running toward her with his heart racing. "Kat!"

Katja ignored him, her eyes snagging on the sight of her uncle Uhtred running into Bebbanburg where no other man stood on guard. Her head was a blazing storm that could not be blown out with each step she took, ready to follow her uncle like she knew her mother would do.

"Katja! What is wrong?" Aethelstan questioned, furrowing his brows when he caught up to her side. He went to grab her hands and stop her, but she shoved him back, not saying a word. "Talk to me! Please, Kat!"

"She is dead!" Katja shouted, choking on a sob while she continued storming forward. "My mother is dead!"

Aethelstan froze, his face falling as he felt the world go quiet around him. Not even Katja's running footsteps could be heard in his ears as he stared at the ground with tears growing in his eyes. Bemia was a mother figure to all bastards and orphaned children, her golden heart always full of motherly love for those who had no one to love them—and now she was gone.

When Katja ran into Bebbanburg, she halted for a second at the sight of two men fighting her uncle while Wihtgar stood a distance away in fear. But then a third man charged at Uhtred, and she let out a scream of anger, running forward and taking the man's attention.

While growing up, Sihtric had taught Katja how to use a sword and any weapon for that matter, but it was Bemia who taught the woman how to fight with her fists...and for her mother, Katja would kill with her fists.

Metal clashed against metal when Katja's sword met the man's, the vibration running down her arms. Then she lifted a foot up and kicked him in the stomach, sending him staggering back a few steps before she dropped her sword and grabbed his wrist that held his own sword. A shout of pain sounded around them when she bit down on his wrist and then pulled her head back, ripping a chunk of his flesh out. That rage in her burned hot when she sent her knee into the man's stomach, quickly sending the crown of her forehead into his nose the second he doubled in pain.