𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏 - 𝑰𝒗𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔

12

A few days later, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Ivar, and his wife Daenaera made their way toward England. The brothers sailed on their longships, but Daenaera refused to leave Sylvarion behind, choosing instead to fly over the sea on dragonback.

As they neared the town of York, Daenaera released Sylvarion to soar above the waters, their eyes fixed on the city below.

"Look at her," Ivar said with a grin, "so ripe for the plucking!"

Daenaera shot him a side-eye, but he continued undeterred.

"And they don't even know we're here—" Hvitserk began.

"If they haven't noticed the gigantic beast circling overhead yet," Daenaera interrupted, shooting Hvitserk a deadly glare.

"If you ever call Sylvarion a 'gigantic beast' again, I won't stop him from burning you alive," the princess warned.

Ivar chuckled, but said nothing. Hvitserk swallowed hard and nodded.

"I say we strike tomorrow, before they have a chance to react," Ivar said firmly, taking his wife's hand in his large one.

"Agreed," Hvitserk replied, carefully avoiding Daenaera's gaze.

"Wait." Ubbe halted them, causing Ivar to look his way.

"I remember something Father said," Ubbe spoke slowly. "It's best to attack an English town on a saint's day celebration—most people will be either drunk or in church."

"How do we find out when that is?" Hvitserk asked, eyes on Ubbe.

"We'll find a way," Ubbe promised.

At that moment, Hvitserk reached over and ruffled Ivar's hair. Ivar scowled, and Daenaera noticed.

"Should I feed him to Sylvarion?" she asked with a sly grin.

"Not yet, my sweet princess. Not yet," Ivar whispered with a smile, and together they rejoined the others at camp.

⸻

On the way back, Daenaera suddenly halted, her sharp ears picking up a sound. Ivar caught her meaning and whistled softly. Soon, two children approached the edge of the lake. Ubbe and Hvitserk stepped forward cautiously.

The children sat trembling under a tree, clearly terrified. Daenaera sat beside Ubbe, a satisfied grin playing on her lips.

Ivar, the only one who spoke their language, crawled forward.

"If you tell us the truth, we will not harm you," he promised gently. "When do you celebrate your next saint's day?"

The children exchanged nervous glances. The taller one finally answered, "In three days' time, Ascension Day."

"Three days," Ivar repeated, holding up three fingers to Ubbe, who nodded.

"That was easier than I thought," Ivar smiled. Then, turning to Daenaera, he said with a mischievous glint, "Now we must make a sacrifice."

⸻

Two days later, the northern army launched their attack on York with sudden ferocity.

"This is it, my sweet princess," Ivar said, smiling as he pressed a kiss to Daenaera's lips. "This town is ours."

Ubbe and a group of warriors reached the castle walls, where Ubbe killed several defenders with hammer and dagger, prying open the gates. Vikings poured into the city streets.

Many tried to flee, but Daenaera was waiting atop Sylvarion, her dragon looming fiercely over the gates.

"Dracarys," the princess commanded softly.

With a roar, Sylvarion unleashed flames, burning those fleeing to ash.

Ivar charged ahead in his chariot, hurling axes with deadly precision into the hearts of his foes.

He paused near a building where Ubbe stood beside him. Removing his helmet, Ivar adopted a calm posture as his brothers forced open the doors. Inside was a church filled with terrified Christians. They were slaughtered mercilessly.

Daenaera appeared, her silver hair streaked with blood, her attire soaked crimson. She stood beside Ivar's chariot, where he beckoned her over.

"You are mesmerizing, my wife," he said, gripping her neck and pressing a fierce kiss to her lips. "Let's go."

Ivar's men dragged the priest from the church and pinned him to the ground. Ivar crawled toward him, roaring directly into his face. The priest trembled in terror.

Ivar scooped up blood from the floor and painted a crude cross on the priest's forehead, laughing hysterically.

When the priest raised his large cross necklace to pray, Ivar tore it from his grasp, yelling, "No!"

The priest pleaded in his native tongue, but Ivar paid no mind.