The servants took Ayla to a bathhouse close to the Clan Hall. The entrance was spacious, with sofas and coffee tables close to the walls, leaving the center free. Colorful mosaics decorated the walls and floors. The bathhouse appeared to be empty, but one of the servants rang a bell that was on a table, and moments later, two women and a man appeared from behind a curtain. “This is Lady Ayla, a special guest of Chief Ulfr. He asks that you prepare her for the alxa-lotx ceremony,” a servant said. “It will be our pleasure to get Lady Ayla ready!” the man said. He sounded very feminine. “Follow us!” The servants left. The two women and the man took Ayla to a room with enormous bathtubs. Tables with baskets full of petals and flowers and bottles with all sorts of oils or lotions were next to the bathtubs. “Lady Ayla, we will have to remove all your clothes to wash you properly.” “Just Ayla,” she let them know what she wanted to be called. The women smiled and helped Ayla undress wh

Ayla took a long sip of her wine before asking. “And t’xoria?” Hudde turned serious. “You mean he still calls you that? I feel bad for you!” He drank from his goblet. Ayla studied him for a moment. Hudde appeared sad, but there was a touch of mischief in his eyes. She couldn’t tell if he was serious or if he was jesting. “It means something bad?” Ayla wanted to know. Hudde drank some more from his goblet. “It means dog.” Ayla could not believe Rhobart had been calling her a dog. No wonder everyone laughed each time he said t’xoria to her. Tears pooled in her eyes. “If you ever lie to her again, I will rip out your tongue!” Rhobart’s angry voice came from behind Ayla. Hudde turned pale. Ayla turned on her heels, and Rhobart cupped her face between his hands. “I would never call you that,” he told her before gently kissing her lips. Ayla heard the two women gasp, but she didn’t care. She was upset. Why was it so hard to tell her what that word meant? “Dance with me,” Rhobart sa

After two days of celebrating Siff and Kassidy’s alxa-lotx ceremony, life in the Hammer Clan returned to normal. Shops, butcheries, smithies, and other businesses reopened, and the streets buzzed with activity. Master bladesmiths forged new magic ore weapons, while master armorers worked on new armor. Tailors sewed while scribblers wrote. Clothes, sweets, toys, books, herbs, and all kinds of goods were sold in the shops. And it was in front of one of these shops that Ayla and Milton stopped. “As promised,” Milton said, “this is the best alchemy shop in the Hammer Clan. It has everything. From roots and plants to tusks of trolls or horns of dragon-snappers.” Ayla nodded and looked at the shop entrance. Earlier, she had asked Milton where she could find more medicinal plants and herbs, and the Fire Mage promised to take her after breakfast. While it was true that she needed more healing plants, she also needed other types of plants. After what happened between Rhobart and her, she nee

We will grow old together. She held onto that promise, even when dark thoughts poisoned her heart and mind. She buried her nose in the pillow Rhobart used. After her last nightmare, Rhobart moved into her room. His scent lingered on the pillow, and Ayla inhaled deeply. Minutes after Milton left, the door opened. Ayla lifted her head to see who had entered without knocking. She stopped breathing when she saw Rhobart standing in the doorway. She thought she felt her soul reaching for him. Only for him. He stood there. Looking at her. Drinking her in. He said nothing as he stared at her, his hands in his pockets. When Ayla was starting to think she was looking at a statue, Rhobart finally moved. He closed and locked the door before walking slowly towards the bed. Ayla rose from the bed. He was like a magnet, pulling her to him. She met him halfway. He cupped her cheeks and wiped her tears with his thumbs. “I am sorry for how I acted earlier. I should never have yelled at you.” “Did

Ayla found herself in a green valley surrounded entirely by mountains. She had never felt more at peace as in that moment. Like nothing bad could happen as long as she was there. A soft breeze fluttered the hem of her white dress as she walked through a sea of flowers, wondering how she had gotten to the valley. Maybe it was another dream. She sat on a bench amongst the flowers and made bracelets until she observed a group of seven knights. On their shoulders, they carried the body of a fallen warrior. They walked slowly, singing songs in Old Nordmarian. Raw pain could be read on their faces. She stood and walked towards them. When she reached them, they didn’t seem to notice her. Most of the time, the people who appeared in her dreams would talk to her. “Excuse me,” she said. The men didn’t look at her as they walked and continued singing the sound of anguish. Even if Ayla couldn’t understand what they were saying, she felt that they were singing about their fallen brother-in-ar