Andrea didn’t even look back. “They use magic to hide the openings. Helps keep tourists from wandering in and panicking.”
“That would be a surprise,” Wren muttered. “Are we there yet?”
“You sound like my kids.” Andrea made a breathy sound that might’ve been a laugh before stopping abruptly. She squinted at the rock formations looming overhead. “Now, where is Gunnar’s cave?”
It was early— painfully early. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the horizon was already paling, warning them that the sunlight would soon spill over the mountaintop unimpeded. No clouds. No protection. Andrea had insisted they wait until morning to travel; navigating the uneven rock in complete darkness was a death wish. Wren had barely slept, afraid that Gunnar wouldn’t wait, that he’d step into the morning light before she reached him. Andrea promised Ketill would keep him from doing anything drastic—but only until sunrise.
Wind roared down the mountain, whipping their hair across their faces and stinging their cheeks raw. Wren rubbed her hands up and down her arms as her breath puffed into the cold air. They were running out of time. She could feel it.
Then Andrea gasped, low and relieved. “There. I knew I remembered where it was. Right here.”
Wren followed her as Andrea pressed a hand against what looked like solid stone. The rock shimmered faintly—and they slipped inside.
The cave was empty. No warm glow from the fire. No simmering pot on the stove. No soft lantern light or lingering scent of pine furs.
Just a hollow, cold chamber.
“He’s gone!” Wren choked out.
A sharp pop cracked the air, and Wren spun around.
Gryla appeared behind them, towering, her shadow stretching across the stone floor. Her expression was thunderous. “What have you done, little human? Where is my son?”
Wren instinctively shrank back against Andrea, then forced herself upright. “What did I do? You manipulated everything. You created a storm to trap me here with him, pushed us together, and then you told me I wasn’t good enough. Why bother matchmaking if I wasn’t worthy?”
Gryla blinked, utterly bewildered. “I never said that.”
“You did.” Wren’s voice steadied with each word, the realization that had been growing in her since the previous evening, settling over her like a comfortable cloak. “Yesterday morning when you barged in. But you’re wrong. I am strong enough. I am good enough. I don’t need fattening up or ‘toughening’ or whatever nonsense you spewed. The only thing that matters is what Gunnar thinks—what I think. And he’s perfect for me.”
“Then why did you leave?” Gryla boomed, only slightly quieter than her usual thunder.
Wren stared at the cold stone beneath her boots. “Because I was scared. I thought he wouldn’t love me as I am. That I wouldn’t measure up.” She lifted her chin, meeting Gryla’s blazing eyes. “But I am enough.”
A monstrous, delighted grin split Gryla’s face before she lunged forward and scooped Wren into an embrace that squeezed the air from her lungs and hoisted her clean off the ground. “I am so HAPPY!”
Wren wheezed. “Great, now please put me down.”
But Gryla’s joy evaporated as quickly as it came. “Where is my son?”
Andrea stepped forward grimly. “He might be walking into the sun.”
Gryla dropped Wren so fast she stumbled. “The sun? Then what is your plan, little human?”
“Stop him—if I only knew where he went!”
Gryla straightened to her full, terrifying height. “I can help with that.”
Chapter
Eleven
Gunnar stood beside the towering rock formation the locals called Grýlusteinarnir—Gryla’s Stones—but he knew better. These jagged, wind-scoured pillars were his uncle Eirik, turned to stone after walking into the sunrise centuries ago.
Another mislabeling by humans—everyone lumped trolls under his mother’s name—but Gunnar didn’t mind. Resting here felt fitting. Eirik had taught him more about honor and restraint than anyone. If Gunnar’s end was to mirror his uncle’s, then this was the place to do it.
The mate bond inside him, dormant and aching, had flared not long ago—blinding, electric, frantic. A surge so strong it nearly ripped him from his path and drove him straight toward Wren.
For a breathless moment, hope had flickered. And then it quieted. Dulled. Stilled.
