Hagen looked at her, something shifting in his expression. “You sound verra certain about that.”
“I am certain.” She met his gaze squarely. “Justice doesn’t wait for convenience or politics. Either you believe in it or you don’t.”
“Is that what you call it? Justice?” His tone had shifted, grown cooler. “Or is it vengeance?”
Brynja stiffened. “There’s a difference?”
“Aye. There is.” Hagen pulled his sword from the ground, wiping the dirt from the blade with deliberate care. “Justice is about making things right. Vengeance is about making yourself feel better.”
Heat flared in her chest. “So when I hunt down the men who murdered my mother, I’m just trying to make myself feel better?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“You did.” She took a step closer, anger thrumming through her veins. “You just said vengeance is selfish. Well, I want those men dead, Hagen. I want the bastards’ blood on my hands. Is that selfish? Aye, mayhap it is. But it’s also right.”
“Right for who?” He faced her fully now, jaw tight. “For you? Or for your mother? Because she’s dead, Brynja. Killing her murderers won’t bring her back.”
The words hit like a physical blow. “How dare you?”
“How dare I what? Tell you the truth?” His voice rose to match hers. “You think I don’t understand? You think I don’t lie awake at night imagining what I’d do to the men who hurt my family? The Buchans, the Commings, so many have attacked my clan over the years. But wanting something and it being right aren’t the same thing.”
“So you’d let them go free? Let them live while good people died?”
“I didn’t say that either.”
“Then what are you saying?” Brynja demanded. “Because it sounds like you’re saying my quest for justice—”
“Vengeance.”
“—is somehow wrong. That I should just forgive and forget and move on like a good little lass.”
“That’s not what I’m saying!” Hagen’s shout echoed across the empty yard. “I’m saying I’m terrified you’re going to get yourself killed chasing ghosts. You don’t know who the guiltymen are yet. How many will you have to kill to find out who killed your mother and aunt?”
Silence fell between them, sharp and sudden.
Brynja’s breath came hard. “My mother’s murderer is a ghost, but Sholto isn’t a ghost. He hurt Hildi.”
“True, but he might as well be. You’ve been watching the horizon for weeks. Every boat that passes, every stranger who comes to port, you think it’s him. You’re living your life waiting for another confrontation that might never come.” He took a step toward her, his expression raw. “And if it does come? What then? You fight him? You kill him? And then what, Brynja? Does the hole in your chest fill up? Do the nightmares stop?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice shaking. “But I have to try. I have to.” She broke off, fists clenched. “You don’t understand.”
“Don’t I?” His laugh was bitter. “I now know of a man who wishes to kill me and my father? How can I not go after Dugan? You think I don’t imagine it every single day?”
“Then why don’t you?” The question came out sharper than she’d intended.
Hagen went very still. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, dangerous. “Because I know the difference between justice and revenge. Because I know that killing him won’t bring anyone back. And because—” He stopped, jaw working.
“Because what?”
“Because I’m afraid of what I’ll become if I do it.” The admission seemed wrenched from somewhere deep. “I’m afraid I’ll like it. I’m afraid the rage will feel good. And then what? Where does it stop?”
Brynja stared at him. “So you do nothing.”
“I do something. I protect the people I love. I make sure it doesn’t happen again. I fight when fighting is necessary.” He met her eyes. “But I don’t chase vengeance dressed up as justice.”
The words stung more than they should have. “You think that’s what I’m doing.”
“Aren’t you?” He took another step closer. “Brynja, I understand the need for it. I do. But I’m watching you consume yourself with this need for revenge, and I’m terrified of what happens if you get it. More terrified of what happens if you don’t.”
