Brynja
Brynja woke in darkness, her heart hammering, the scream trapped behind her teeth.
Not again.
She lay rigid in the unfamiliar bed, counting her breaths the way Sister Ada had taught her. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. The dream clung to her—blood on stone, her mother’s hand going cold in hers, rough voices speaking of golden braids and the coin they’d fetch.
Moonlight filtered through the fur covering the window of her chamber at Duart Castle. She’d been here over a sennight now, and still she couldn’t quite believe the luxury of her own room, her own bed, walls of stone that kept the world at bay.
Except walls couldn’t keep out memories.
She pushed back the covers and reached for her boots. Sleep wouldn’t return now—it never did after the dreams. Better to walk, to move, to remind her body that she was here, alive, safe.
Safe. What a strange word. She’d thought she was safe at the nunnery too, until men came in the night for Sheona.
And a boat with two men patrolled the isle constantly, looking for something.
Or someone.
Brynja pulled on her mantle and belted her dagger at her waist. The weight of it was familiar, comforting. She eased her door open, grateful when the hinges didn’t creak, and slipped into the corridor. She wanted to make sure she didn’t awaken Hildi, now that she was finally sleeping in a true bed chamber again.
The castle was quiet at this hour, most residents long asleep. She made her way down the stairs, past the great hall with itsbanked fire, and out the door to the courtyard. Fresh air might help clear her head.
She was halfway across the courtyard when she saw him.
Hagen sat on a bench near the stable, Freya’s reins in his hand. The mare stood beside him, already saddled, her coat gleaming silver in the moonlight.
Brynja stopped. He hadn’t seen her yet, his attention on the horse, murmuring something too soft for her to hear. What was he doing out here at this hour?
Then he looked up, as if sensing her presence. No surprise crossed his face. Instead, he simply said, “Couldn’t sleep either?”
“Nay.” She moved closer, confused. “Why is Freya saddled?”
“Thought you might need her.” He stood, holding out the reins. “You’ve been restless these past few nights. I hear you walking the corridors.”
Heat crept up her neck. “I tried to be quiet. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t wake me. Besides, it’s not your steps that I hear. It’s something deep inside me that I sense. I can tell when you’re troubled. I don’t sleep well either.” His smile was crooked, self-deprecating. “I think Lia is correct. We have some kind of connection.”
She took the reins, still bewildered. “But why Freya?”
“Because walls can feel like cages sometimes,” he said quietly. “And I thought you might want to run.”
Something in her chest cracked open. He understood.
He understood.
“I saddled Midnight Star too,” Hagen continued, gesturing to where his own mount waited in the shadows. “Da said to take him for a ride. That is, if you want company. Or I can stay here, if you’d rather go alone.”
The offer hung between them. No pressure. No expectation. Just... understanding.
“Come with me,” Brynja heard herself say.
His smile was worth the vulnerability of the admission.
They mounted and rode out through the castle gates, the guards waving them through without question. Hagen must have warned them, Brynja realized. He’d planned this. Not just tonight, but other nights too, keeping her horse ready in case she needed an escape.
The path he chose led away from the village, toward the cliffs overlooking the sea. The moon painted everything in shades of silver. The view was glorious: the rolling hills, the dark ribbon of water, the distant outline of other islands.
