Desire's Fury (Viking's Fury Book 2) by Violetta Rand

cheeks were tearstained, and she averted her eyes when he tried to give her a sympathetic look. Konal remained sullen and distant. But Haakon stepped forward and bowed.
    “My heart is heavy with grief for the loss of our father,” he said. “But I know he will join Odin at his feast table this night. I will serve you loyally, Jarl Roald.”
    Roald cupped his shoulder. “I am proud to call you brother and count you among my warriors.”
    Then he turned to the crowd. “My father served the gods faithfully for forty years as your jarl. No man, woman, or child, free or bond, suffered one day under his care. The Trondelag has known relative peace since my sire claimed his seat of power. Dozens of expeditions southward have made us wealthy and powerful. These lands are stained with the blood of my ancestors, fierce fighters who swore to protect our homeland from our enemies. Now my father, Jarl Brandr the Restless, is at peace, reunited with my mother and sitting with Allfather. I do not want to see tears or hear gnashing of teeth. Celebrate his life. Honor his memory. Let his spirit live on in our hearts.”
    The warriors beat on their shields with fists and swords, the low rumble of their voices rising. “Brandr. Brandr. Brandr.”
    “Our vengeance for our enemies and our countless victories are a testament to my father’s iron will.”
    “Brandr. Brandr. Brandr.”
    “I am now the protector of our lands. I swear before Odin, Thor, and Frigg—upon everything sacred and true—that I will never stray from my father’s path. His vision for our futures was clear. He bled for the survival of his children…” Roald gazed at his siblings. “And my blessed mother died trying to bring new life into this world.”
    The sound of the men beating their shields grew louder and louder.
    “Konal, Runa, and Haakon, join me. Say goodbye to your father. Wish him safe passage between the realms.”
    Konal gripped Roald’s forearm, then turned to the longship. He bowed his head and whispered indiscernible words before he tossed a small flower wreath into the bow. “Know peace, Father,” he said, then stepped aside.
    Runa and Haakon followed his example.
    After they finished, Roald accepted his father’s war sword from Troel and stepped down from the pier and into the ship. The deck had been stripped of everything but a wide bench set in the center, where his father’s body was draped in silk and fur. A silver crown adorned his head and his feet were clad in his best leather boots.
    Crates containing gifts and bags of coins to take with him into the afterlife were stacked nearby. The rest of the vessel had been packed with kindling saturated with whale oil. The stench of it made Roald’s eyes water.
    This is what a man’s life came down to. Did he die gloriously as any warrior desired or meet a straw death?
    Roald knelt beside his father, raising the sword above his head.
    “My last offering, great Jarl Brandr. You crossed the North Sea countless times and put the fear of Odin into men’s hearts. With a simple look you silenced me as a boy; that is how much I respected and loved you. Hear me, Brandr the Restless. Hear me, Odin, Thor, and Frigg. Hear me, people of the Trondelag. A more celebrated jarl will never walk among us.”
    Then he stood and placed the sword flush with his sire’s body, folding his cold hands around the pommel.
    “Odin calls you up from the fields of green, from battle-worn mountaintops, from blood-red rivers, where you’ve served and vanquished in his name. Allfather’s daughters, the silvery Valkyries, have chosen you this day. From your lover’s arms they’ve torn you, out of hearing of the weeping women who adore you. Pain no longer racks your body, for you’ve been offered the golden cup of youth. Drink it, my father. Know happiness again. Taste the joy of sweet love. And when Ragnarok comes, when Odin’s war horn is sounded, know we will be reunited. All of us.”
    With a last look at his