Nena by Ann Boelter (digital book reader txt) 📕

harsh consequences for all who were close to her. Ultimately the whole tribe would suffer—when her brother dragged them into his relentless quest for revenge.

As she sat on the cliff edge staring out over the Northmen camp on her final day, only one answer had become clear to her. She could affect the outcome of the trial, but nothing she could do was going to prevent it. What Jarl wanted, what Lothor wanted, what her father wanted, and her own responsibilities and obligations outweighed what she wanted—especially when she couldn’t even pinpoint what that was. What did she want? To be with Jarl? How could she want that? It was impossible. They were lion and wolf.

She had promised Jarl she would return for the trial but wasn’t sure now that she could do it. How could she watch two men she loved trying to kill each other without doing something she would regret? But she had given him her word. She had to be there.

If she was not of clear mind and purpose, which Nena accepted that she was not, the only way to successfully get through it, would be to steel herself against her swirling emotions and bury them deep inside until it was over. She’d been tested so many times before and had always passed; she could not be weak now, and she could not act in a manner that would shame her family. She was the daughter of Meln. She would attend the trial and accept her fate with dignity. She had no choice. She had to trust that the gods had a plan—and that it was more than just to punish her for defying them.

Just before dawn, without a word to her replacement or Gentok, Nena grabbed a handful of gray mane and swung aboard the mare, kicking her into a gallop for home.

AFTER PUTTING THE mare away, Nena went to the baths. She fought the urge to go straight to the cell, reminding herself she would not have done so if she were normal. Since she could not trust her own judgment, the only reliable way she had come up with to ensure she did nothing regrettable, was to measure her every action through the eyes of someone who had never left the village. After days of mental searching, she was no closer to understanding or resolution. What she felt was still in clear conflict with what she knew was right.

She returned to Jalla’s tent and asked her to prepare her hair, as she would have before any other trial. Jalla looked at her curiously, then pulled up a stool beside her and began to separate her long dark hair into sections. Today she chose not the single utilitarian braid of a warrior, but a more feminine style with multiple smaller braids. Normally Nena found her touch relaxing, but this morning the quill brush raked across her scalp. Sitting still while the tension inside her continued to build became nearly unbearable. She felt as if she would explode. As the minutes ticked by, Nena couldn’t help but think of the upcoming battle, despite her strong earlier resolutions not to do so.

Her brother would have no mercy when it came to killing Jarl. And even if she could convince Jarl to be merciful—to offer her brother the chance to submit if it came to that, Lothor would never take it. He would not submit to the enemy. He couldn’t submit to the enemy without losing the respect of his people. And Jarl was the enemy.

“Did you know your father was not chosen by your mother the first time he competed for her?” Jalla interrupted her thoughts. “Even though he won the Southern Plains tournament, she did not choose him.”

“Then how did they come to be together?” Nena asked.

“Have I never told you this story?” Jalla paused. “It is a good story. The word of your mother’s beauty and bravery on the battlefield was legend. She and her brother’s raiding achievements were elevating the Southern Plains tribe to one to be reckoned with. You take after her, you know. I see it in you, and I’m sure your father does, too.

“Your grandfather was hoping for a match between his son, your father, and a daughter of the Sea Tribe to the North. Which as you know, was later satisfied when the gods revealed their match there for my sister, Darna. But the legend of your mother and the upcoming Southern Plains tournament beckoned your father like a flame calls to the moth. One night he sneaked off in disguise to steal a look at your mother and judge for himself. And even though he did not meet her then, he decided she was the one for him.”

“But he does not decide,” Nena protested.

Jalla chuckled, glad she had at least temporarily diverted Nena’s attention. “As he was soon to discover. He persuaded your grandfather to allow him to compete in their tournament and upon his arrival was soon the favorite. His gift to her was some poorly thought out thing; I do not even recall now what it was. He was sure all he needed to do was offer himself and win the tournament, and of course the gods would choose him for her. He was Teclan, after all, and next in line to be chief. He was cocky back then, your father.” Her aunt smiled. “I can still see it so clearly.

“But his gift left your mother and the gods cold, or perhaps it was his attitude. When he vanquished his last foe and looked to the dais for the words he so expected to hear, your mother stood and left, leaving her father to announce that the gods had chosen none for her that day.

“Your father was in shock, I think, but he was stubborn. After he returned home, he petitioned your grandfather to have a tournament here, and to invite her, much as you were invited to the Eastern