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“I am thinking that you cannot say no to our son,” she said flatly, looking pointedly back at the tennúr in Breca’s cart. A twist of Thorkel’s lips, a shrug of his shoulders. “Aye, I may be guilty of that, but then, he has your eyes, and I’m not remembering the last time I said no to you, either. You two have a strange power over me.”
“If the gods were not all dead, I would think they were smiling on me.”
She grinned, a fierce glee in her eyes that Varg found unsettling.
“You are my second; should you not be giving me advice on how to win?” “Put your axe in his skull,” Orka said.
“You did well,” Svik said before he followed her. “I fear I may die,” Varg muttered, finding it hard to even control the movements of his jaw. “We are all born to die,” Svik called back over his shoulder.
“Sometimes killing has to be done, but do not do it with hate in your heart.
“A question is better out than in.”
Strange, how we revert to the behaviour of our childhood, when back in the presence of our family.
It is strange how quickly we become accustomed to better things.
Sometimes there are no choices. We are swept along in a current not of our own choosing.
“Why did you kill him, when he answered everything?” Mord pressed. “Because a cleaved head no longer plots,” Orka growled.
am a hypocrite, you see. Because a mother’s love is a powerful thing. An instinct like no other. I would let the world drown in blood if it would mean my Bjarn was safe and back in my arms again.”
