Black Honey

Kaya stood near her horse, fingers drumming impatiently against the saddle. The morning air was crisp, the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke clinging to the wind. Around her, men mounted their horses, adjusting their gear, voices low as they prepared for the journey ahead.

But Kaya's mind was elsewhere.

She was angry—angry at herself for letting emotions slip through the cracks, for feeling even a sliver of vulnerability. Worse still, she hated the creeping sense of unease that settled in her bones. She was usually guarded, always aware, but with Ivarr lurking about, she felt exposed. The man was volatile, unpredictable—a beast barely kept on a leash.

The thought of his leering gaze made her grip the saddle tighter.

"Something on your mind, Kaya?"

Sigurd's voice cut through her thoughts like a blade.

Kaya stiffened, her hand twitching toward her dagger on instinct. She hadn't heard him approach. When she turned, Sigurd was already astride his horse, watching her with an expression that bordered on concern. He had heard, then. Of course, he had. Word traveled fast, especially when blood had nearly been spilled.

She exhaled sharply, forcing her shoulders to relax. "Ivarr," she muttered.

Sigurd's lips quirked slightly. "I figured as much." His gaze flicked toward the group ahead, where Ivarr was laughing—too loud, too wild. "The man has his charms."

Kaya snorted. "If you consider madness a charm."

Sigurd chuckled, but there was a knowing edge to it. He was testing her, reading her as he always did. Then, with an infuriating hint of amusement, he added, "Or maybe he likes you."

Kaya's stomach turned at the suggestion. "I would rather wade through the swamps of the Nile, naked and unarmed, surrounded by starving crocodiles, than entertain whatever festering abomination he calls feelings."

Sigurd let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. "That bad?"

Kaya shot him a sharp glare. "Worse."

Sigurd's amusement lingered, but his tone shifted, turning more serious. "You'd be wise to watch him closely. He's dangerous, even when he smiles."

Kaya already knew that. She had seen men like Ivarr before—restless, eager for destruction. The type that would burn the world down just to watch it crumble.

"I never take my eyes off a wolf when it bares its teeth," she said darkly, gripping the reins.

Sigurd nodded, satisfied with her answer. "Good." Then, with a smirk, he added, "Try not to kill him just yet. We still need him."

Kaya mounted her horse, rolling her shoulders. "We'll see how long that lasts."

Sigurd chuckled, but the warning in his eyes remained.

The sudden weight of Eivor's raven landing on her shoulder nearly made Kaya reach for her blade. Its claws dug into the thick fabric of her cloak, grounding her in the present. She exhaled sharply, gripping the reins tighter as her horse moved in steady rhythm beside Sigurd's. Ahead, Ubba rode with the ease of a man who had seen his fair share of war, leading them through the rolling hills and scattered woods.

Away from Ivarr's tormenting presence, Kaya found herself breathing a little easier. There was no need to watch her back every second, no need to brace for whatever twisted amusement he might concoct at her expense. Having Sigurd beside her was a welcome relief—his presence was steady, a tether in a world that often felt like shifting sand beneath her feet.

But it wasn't Ivarr that plagued her mind now.

The memory of last night's near-mistake with Eivor clung to her like a second skin. The ghost of his grip still burned on her wrist, the unspoken words between them festering in her thoughts. She hadn't been ready to face him in the morning and had kept her distance, but she knew that wouldn't last forever.

Her fingers drummed against the saddle, the unease settling deep in her bones.

"You'll have to endure my brother."

Ubba's voice pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced at him, finding his gaze already on her. His tone was neutral, but there was something unreadable in his expression.

"He always finds new ways to humor himself," he added, though his amusement didn't quite reach his eyes.

Kaya let out a quiet breath, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension coiled there. "He can amuse himself at someone else's expense."

Ubba smirked. "That's the thing—he enjoys the ones who fight back."

The raven shifted on her shoulder, its dark eyes locking onto hers. There was something unnerving about its gaze, as if it could see past the mask she wore, as if it understood the war raging inside her.

She clenched her jaw and looked away, willing herself to focus on the journey ahead. The rhythmic clop of hooves against the dirt should have been soothing, a constant, predictable sound. Instead, it only reminded her of how far she still had to go.

"We'll keep that in mind," Eivor's voice came from behind, calm yet edged with something unreadable.

The raven shifted on Kaya's shoulder, its talons pressing briefly against the fabric before it lifted off, wings cutting through the crisp morning air. It ascended swiftly, its dark silhouette slicing against the pale sky before vanishing into the light.

Kaya's eyes followed its flight, her mind tangled in thoughts she wished she could silence. That bird—it had chosen Eivor, not her. A bond forged between man and beast, a symbol of Odin's favor. She told herself it didn't matter. But still, she watched.

It wasn't the same as the one that had scarred her neck. No, that one had been something else entirely.

Beside her, Sigurd rode in silence, his focus turned inward. He enjoyed the journey, but his thoughts were buried deep, as if turning over the weight of their task ahead. He had yet to make conversation, perhaps giving all of them time to adjust—to find their footing in this uneasy alliance.

Eivor, a few paces away, had noticed the moment his raven had landed on Kaya. For a second, just a fleeting moment, he had seen her differently.

A lone rider cloaked in mystery, the wind catching the edges of her hood, casting her in shadow. Her long robes shifted with the air, as if woven from something untouchable. Her longsword rested at her side, always within reach, and beneath her sleeve, her hidden blade waited like a silent promise.

It was no wonder the raven had found comfort with her.

But the moment passed. Eivor turned his focus back to the road ahead, letting the thought slip away like dust in the wind.

A sharp bark of laughter cut through the quiet.

"And both eyes open," Ubba called, his voice dripping with amusement.

Kaya tensed. The words weren't meant for her, but she knew exactly who they were about. She could already see the smirk curling at Ivarr's lips before she even looked his way. He was watching her again, like a wolf circling prey, waiting for the right moment to strike—not with steel, but with words meant to unsettle.

Kaya resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she inhaled slowly, keeping her expression unreadable. If Ivarr was looking for a reaction, he would find none.

Ubba, as always, let his brother revel in whatever madness drove him. He had long since stopped trying to control him, letting Ivarr be Ivarr.

"You smell that, Ceolbert?" Ivarr's voice cut through the crisp air, thick with amusement. "The stink of jealousy. A foul thing, isn't it? Must be because of our budding friendship, I think."

His grin stretched wide, sharp with mischief, as he nudged his horse closer to the boy's. Ceolbert, still awkward in the saddle despite his attempts to sit tall, glanced between Ivarr and the others, uncertainty flickering in his youthful eyes.

Kaya tightened her grip on the reins, her knuckles turning white. The leather groaned beneath her fingers, betraying the restraint she struggled to maintain.

"I am happy I am coming along," Ceolbert said hesitantly, his voice soft, unsure. It was the first time Kaya or Eivor had heard him speak, and the boy's tone still carried the remnants of childhood. He was caught between boyhood and manhood, eager to prove himself but not yet hardened like the warriors around him.

Kaya exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders as if trying to shake off the irritation clawing at her spine. "Don't encourage him," she shouted, her voice cutting through the morning air.

Sigurd nearly barked out a laugh, catching the exasperation in her tone. He had been watching her closely, noting the way her patience had frayed with every passing hour. It hadn't even been two full days, and already, Kaya looked ready to bury her blade in Ivarr's throat.

She had the chance not long ago. She could have done it. Should have done it. But Eivor had stepped in, ruining the moment, dragging her back before steel could settle the matter once and for all.

Ivarr, of course, only reveled in her frustration. The earlier confrontation had been nothing more than a game to him, an amusement. And now, he was pushing again, testing, provoking—because he enjoyed it.

He turned back to Ceolbert, his laughter rolling through the cold air like a challenge. "Oh, she sounds bitter, Ceolbert. Maybe she's upset I chose you to ride beside me instead of her."

Kaya clenched her jaw, her teeth grinding together. The audacity. The sheer arrogance.

Her fingers flexed on the reins, an itch creeping through her limbs—a familiar urge to end the noise, to silence the fool once and for all.

But she didn't.

Not yet.

Instead, she met Ivarr's gaze as she moved her head, her hood, thankfully, covering her face, her expression devoid of amusement, her eyes dark and dangerous. "If I wanted to ride beside you, Ragnarsson, you'd be dead in the dirt already."

Ivarr's grin widened, his eyes alight with something far worse than mere amusement. "Oh, I do love when you talk like that."

Ubba sighed, shaking his head but making no move to stop his brother.

Sigurd couldn't hold back his amusement and let out a deep, hearty laugh. Beside him, Eivor merely shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. Kaya truly knew how to get under men's skin—not in a way that left them enamored, but in a way that made them question their sanity.

And yet, Ivarr was relentless. He prodded, poked, and dug just to see how far he could push her before she snapped.

What had she done to deserve this torment?

Kaya had always kept good company, or at the very least, tolerable company. But these Norsemen were an entirely different breed—loud, boisterous, insufferable.

At this point, she would rather be back at the settlement where Hytham was a far better companion. At least Hytham understood the art of silence, the comfort of shared presence without the need for constant words. She could sit beside him for hours, neither of them speaking, and still feel at ease.

Ivarr, on the other hand, seemed to take offense to silence.

"Careful, Ragnarsson," she said, her tone dry as dust. "Too much talking might be the death of you."

Ivarr's grin only widened, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "And yet, here I am. Still breathing."

"For now," Kaya muttered, making sure it was just loud enough for him to hear.

That only seemed to amuse him more. Ivarr laughed, throwing his head back as his voice echoed through the vast openness of the rolling hills and farmland around them. It was the kind of laughter that made her fingers itch for a blade.

"I hate this man," Kaya muttered, eyes forward, jaw clenched.

She could feel Sigurd watching her, and when she glanced his way, she found that insufferable grin plastered on his face.

"I think he likes you," Sigurd said, his tone teasing.

Kaya exhaled sharply through her nose. "I think I want to punch both of you."

Sigurd chuckled, shaking his head. "You'd have to catch us first."

Kaya's fingers flexed over the reins. She was beginning to regret not driving her blade into Ivarr when she had the chance.

And with Ivarr's laughter lingering in the air, Kaya knew one thing for certain—before this was over, someone was going to bleed.

The silence stretched between them, the only sound the steady clopping of hooves against the dirt path, rhythmic and unyielding. The morning air was crisp, yet thick with unspoken thoughts.

Eivor finally voiced the question that had been gnawing at the back of his mind.

"What is Ceolwulf's son doing in Repton at all?"

His voice broke through the quiet, drawing the attention of the group. Even the birds overhead seemed to pause in their morning song, as if waiting for an answer.

Ubba shifted in his saddle, adjusting his grip on the reins. His expression didn't change, but there was something unreadable in his tone when he finally spoke.

"It's Ceolwulf's way of proving his loyalty," he said, his voice even, measured. "A Saxon king needs to convince his new allies that he's worth their steel. And there's no safer place for a traitor and his son than in the middle of a pack of Danes."

Kaya scoffed, shaking her head. "Send his son away to keep him out of danger, yet the boy comes along for the fight?" Her tone was edged with disbelief. "I wonder whose idea that was."

Eivor cast her a sidelong glance but said nothing. There was weight behind her words, a suspicion neither of them needed to voice.

Ubba, however, let out a low chuckle, his amusement laced with knowing. "Oh, I have my guesses."

Kaya didn't need to ask.

Eivor spoke again, his voice edged with something unreadable. "Safe from who? You and Ivarr seem to have dragged this shire through hell."

Kaya loosened her grip on the reins, allowing her horse to slow until she rode beside him. Though her gaze remained fixed ahead, her focus was locked on Eivor. He was pushing, testing the weight of Ubba's words, searching for the cracks beneath the surface.

Ubba barely reacted. He exhaled through his nose, adjusting his posture in the saddle, his expression steady as ever. His grip on the reins was loose, but there was tension in his shoulders, a subtle sign of the weight he carried.

"The fyrds are with us. The common folk too," he said, his tone even, measured. "But Burgred still has his soldiers scattered across Mercia."

Kaya let out a low hum, fingers tapping idly against her saddle. "And a cornered king is at his most dangerous," she muttered. "Desperate men don't fight for victory. They fight to survive."

Ubba's gaze flicked toward her, a glint of approval flashing in his eyes before he nodded. "They are devoted to him. And they'll die defending him."

Eivor scoffed. "Or they'll die because he tells them to."

Ubba's mouth curled into something that was not quite a smirk, nor a frown. "It's the same thing, isn't it?"

"Your voices—Eivor and…" Ceolbert hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. He had heard Eivor's name in passing, but the hooded woman beside him remained a mystery. "You both sound different from the brothers."

Eivor shifted his grip on the reins, giving the boy a sideways glance. "Good ear, lord. Most in England don't bother to notice. But not all Danes are Danes."

His gaze flicked briefly to Kaya, noting how she still kept her eyes ahead, seemingly unbothered by the conversation. He wasn't entirely sure why she had chosen to ride beside him rather than retreat into her usual silence.

Ceolbert, emboldened by Eivor's response, pressed on. "And your friend?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity but hesitant, as if uncertain whether he was overstepping.

Kaya considered the boy for a moment, her fingers idly tapping against the leather of her saddle. She had no interest in giving him more than he needed, but there was no point in being cruel either.

"I am from the desert," she said finally, her voice even. "Nomads, as they say."

She paused, the weight of memory settling on her shoulders. The heat of the sun, the rolling dunes, the scent of spice and smoke—images flickered through her mind, so vivid they almost felt tangible.

"Though we were much more than that," she added, a hint of something unreadable in her tone.

Ceolbert's brows lifted slightly, intrigued but unsure whether to press further. He glanced at her, perhaps searching for more, but Kaya had already let the conversation slip away, her focus returning to the road ahead.

Eivor watched her carefully. She had offered just enough to satisfy curiosity, but there was a distance to her words, a wall built of something deeper. He had seen it before—seen it in men who had lost their homes, their families, their pasts swallowed by war.

Sigurd had noticed too. He had heard whispers from Mentor Ishmael during his travels, small fragments of a past that Kaya never spoke of.

For now, he said nothing.

"From where do you come, if I may ask?"

Ceolbert's voice held the wide-eyed curiosity of a boy only just beginning to grasp the vastness of the world beyond his father's kingdom.

Eivor did not hesitate. "North of the Dane lands. A place called Fornburg, in Norway."

Ceolbert's brows lifted in surprise. "I didn't know there was land north of here," he admitted. "What are the people like?"

Kaya let out a chuckle, unable to help herself. The boy's wonder reminded her of a time before she had learned that the world was not kind to those who failed to understand its harshness.

Sigurd, riding just ahead, turned slightly in his saddle. "I am happy Kaya knows that she can find amusement," he remarked to Eivor, his voice carrying a teasing lilt.

Eivor smirked but said nothing.

Ubba glanced back as well, his expression unreadable, while Ivarr—ever the observer, ever the wolf in waiting—tilted his head in mild amusement. For a fleeting moment, their eyes were all on her, taking in the rare sight of Kaya finding humor in something other than the edge of a blade.

It was fleeting, but it was there.

Eivor had noticed the shift in her since last night. The way she had been guarded, the anger curling beneath her skin, unspoken but simmering. She had not yet spoken of it, and he knew better than to push.

She would come to him when she was ready.

He had learned that much about Kaya.

Couldn't have said it better myself," Sigurd remarked, nodding in agreement with Eivor's words about their homeland.

Then, with a glance toward Kaya, he continued, "Kaya says she is from the desert, but she has not mentioned that she has seen lands beyond the sand. England and Norway were new to her, yes, but she has traveled far and wide."

Kaya exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Like a father proud of a daughter," she muttered, her voice laced with dry amusement. "Want to tell them my kills, too? Or will you save that for a fireside tale?"

Sigurd chuckled, eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, I'm sure there are plenty of stories to share."

Ubba smirked at the exchange, while Ceolbert's curiosity only seemed to deepen.

Eivor glanced at Kaya, watching the way she handled Sigurd's praise with humor rather than discomfort. It was rare to see her indulge in conversation that didn't carry the weight of blood or war.

Ivarr, however, let out a low, knowing laugh. "A well-traveled warrior, then? I do enjoy a woman with experience."

Kaya didn't even turn to acknowledge him. "And yet, experience has taught me not to entertain fools."

The sharp retort drew another round of chuckles, though Ivarr's grin only widened, clearly enjoying the exchange rather than being deterred by it.

A/N: I am so sorry Kaya for putting you through this torment. Don't worry, you will be with Hytham soon enough. Your sanity is on the line. I'll admit though, I did have fun writing this chapter. A more lighthearted chapter. After all the events so far, I think it's safe to say that Kaya needs to lighten up a bit. Just that Ivarr likes to get under her skin… in a bad way.