They rode in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The rhythm of hoofbeats, the cool night air, the vast open sky above, all of it slowly unknotted the tightness in Brynja’s chest.
When they reached the cliff edge, Hagen dismounted and walked to the very edge, looking out over the water. Brynja joined him, leaving Freya to crop the grass nearby.
“Better?” he asked.
“Aye.” She drew in a deep breath of salt air. “How did you know?”
“About needing to run?” He was quiet for a moment. “Because of Derric, Dyna’s husband. He came back from war different. He fought with King Robert for a few years. Couldn’t stand to be indoors for long after that. Used to ride out at night, just to feel like he could breathe. Took him a long time to find peace again.”
“Did he? Find peace?”
“Aye. But not by forgetting what happened, or by having someone tell him to just let it go. He found it with Dyna’s help, and having three bairns keeps his mind busy, he says.”
Brynja’s throat tightened. “The sisters used to tell me I needed to forgive. To find peace through prayer and absolution.”
“And did that help?”
“Nay.” The admission felt like sacrilege, but also like relief. “It just made me feel like I was failing at healing. Like there was something wrong with me because I couldn’t just… move past it.”
Hagen turned to face her fully. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Brynja. What happened to you was evil. Your mother was murdered in front of you. You were dragged away, nearly sold. That’s not something you just move past. It’s something you carry.”
“But for how long?” The question burst out before she could stop it. “How long do I have to keep carrying it? When do I get to just… be free?”
“I don’t know.” His honesty was startling. Most people would have offered platitudes, false comfort. “Mayhap never completely. Mayhap that’s not how it works. But I think…” He stepped closer. “I think freedom isn’t about forgetting or forgiving or any of that. It’s about choosing what you do with what you carry.”
“Like riding out in the middle of the night when the walls get too close?”
“Aye. Like that.” His smile was gentle. “Or like learning to trust someone new, even when it’s terrifying. Like staying at Duart Castle even though you could run back to Iona. Like letting yourself imagine a future that’s different from your past.”
Wind swept up from the water, tangling in Brynja’s braids. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Imagining a different future?”
“I hope so.” His voice dropped lower. “Because I find myself imagining one too. One where you’re in it.”
Her heart stumbled. “Hagen—”
“I’m not asking you to be anything you’re not,” he said quickly. “I’m not asking you to be healed or whole or any of those things people say. I’m just asking… if mayhap you could see yourself staying. Here. With me. As you are.”
As you are. Not as some idealized version of herself. Not once she’d overcome her trauma or avenged her mother or learned to sleep through the night. But as she was, nightmares and rage and all.
“You keep Freya saddled for me,” she said, the words thick in her throat. “Every night?”
“Every night since you named her. After the first time I heard you pacing, I asked the stable master to keep her ready. Just in case you needed her.” He looked almost embarrassed. “I know what it’s like to feel trapped. I thought… I thought having a way out might help you feel less caged. Even if you never use it.”
“But you come with me.”
“Only if you want me to.” His expression was open, honest. “If you’d rather ride alone, I’ll stay behind, though I’ll admit I’d probably send guards behind you for safety reasons. This isn’t about me, Brynja. It’s about you having what you need.”
Something inside her shifted, like a locked door finally opening. All her life, people had wanted something from her—the men who’d killed her mother had wanted her body to sell, the sisters had wanted her to be pious and forgiving, even Hildi sometimes wanted her to be the strong cousin who always knew what to do.
But Hagen just wanted her to be herself. Broken pieces and sharp edges included.
“I want you with me,” she said. “Tonight. And on the morrow night, if the dreams come again. And the night after that.”
“Then I’ll be there.” Simple. Certain.
Brynja stepped closer, close enough to see the way moonlight caught in his eyes, turning them silver. “You don’t try to fix me.”
“You’re not broken.”
