“Put the gloves on.” I point to an extra pair for her to slide her hands into. “I know simple jewelry isn’t exciting to a fierce hunter, but would you like to make something with me?” I heave the heavy pole off the kiln, and she follows my lead, taking the long tongs to remove the lid.
“Is it good practice to make arrowheads?” she asks, and I refrain from smiling at her persistence. I bet the next question will be if she can make arrows for Skadi’s bow.
“It is good practice for anything you’d want to make in the future. Please, if you will place the mold on the floor in the middle of the room.” I keep giving instructions that she follows without fail, and I pour the molten metals in the clay mold carefully, not wasting a drop.
“So now we wait for it to get hard?” she asks with a sleepy laugh, taking off the gloves and reaching for the wine.
“Making jokes like that means you are tired and tipsy, but yes it hardens.” She giggles again. “Should I take you back to your room?” I ask, but she opens the blanket, and I sit close, letting our bodies relish in the heat.
“How about you tell me about Aslaug and the gods, since I’m tipsy and won’t take anything you say seriously?” Her gaze wanders down my chest in a way that lays me bare.
Giving into my desire, I put my arm around her shoulders, and she leans her head into my chest. I take the wine out of her hands and set the half drunk bottle on the floor, wrapping her up in the blanket.
“Comfortable?” I ask, and she has the sweetest audacity to snuggle in.
“Should I be afraid of you instead?”
“No, Rasha. You never have to fear me,” I whisper against her red hair. Feeling each link in my pocket with my other hand, I remember all the years I have avoided setting things right. My atonement is hammered and sculpted in one long lifetime of loss. Her breathing becomes methodic, and I shift my shoulder to see her eyes have closed. Listening to her calm heartbeat, a thought creeps in like a pit revealed after water is wiped from a quenched blade. Has she ever felt safe enough to sleep so soundly?
I continue talking to lull her to actual sleep. “Since you’ll probably wander out in the snow to look for Aslaug, I’ll tell you that I have been separated from my family for many, many years because I made a choice that killed someone.”
Cuddled in my ribcage, sleeping off her adventure, her body becomes heavy against mine, and I know she won’t remember any of this. I tell her the story of how in one moment I lost my family and my seat. Cast into the Mortal Realm, alone to suffer a worse fate than a quick death. Aslaug was my mother’s last gift to protect and remind me that I can earn my redemption, one link at a time.
Rasha is exquisite in a way I don’t deserve. As I gather her up behind the knees, she grabs my tunic while mumbling something I don’t try to understand. The night is more than half over, so bringing her to her room is easy. The courtyard is empty, and I open the locked door without a sound. Tucking her into her bed, I see the mess Aslaug made with the window, clawing through the wood to release the latch that I showed Harald’s men how to make a year ago.
At least the crazy cat didn’t shatter the glass. While Rasha sleeps, I bolt the latch back to the shredded window frame, knowing it won’t stay permanently, and add logs to her fire so she doesn’t wake up freezing.
The cold air sucks the romantic fog out from under me, and I jog down the staircase to return to the forge. The crucible sits unopened in the middle of the room where we left it. She was sobusy chatting and questioning, she didn’t ask what type of mold I used, and although I would have been honest, it might be nice to surprise her. I feel ridiculous for thinking this way when Harald has laid claim to her, and I am only a blacksmith looking to get home.
Wishing Aslaug was here to listen, I find the right pry bar to open the lid. Smithing iron or precious metals takes patience, which I have a lot of since I have lived in the mountains for many centuries. I grumble at how torn I am between wanting to tell Rasha the truth and knowing she’ll think I am crazy or trying to get between her legs.
Slowly loosening the lid to not crack the mold or jostle the metal, I vow to give her a few days to come back to the forge if she chooses. Once the lid is off, I use my bare hands to loosen the clay. The gloves are purely for show, and over time, I’ve gotten used to putting on all the proper protective gear to not raise eyebrows.
Brushing away the hardened clay with my fingers, I see the shape of a bracelet come into view. Still soft, it is the perfect temperature to engrave, and once the metal solidifies fully with the winter’s frigid air, it will be set until it is reheated.
Closing the kiln quickly, I bring everything into the bedroom and set up the bench to begin. I have no set pattern in mind, using the tiny instruments I created myself to etch the delicate motif into the silver and gold. Before long, the strokes of the sharp tools create the shape of many antlers interwoven in scroll work that reminds me of home. Different curves and lines are revealed as I picture Rasha’s body and how strong she is. How strong I will need her to be in the coming months.This bracelet is for her. Turning it over, I examine the hollow pocket inside the band that is exactly the same size as the unfinished chain I carry.
10
RASHA
Waking up alone is almost painful. I don’t remember going to my room or saying goodbye. The last thing I do remember is listening to Shaw talk about his family. He might have mentioned his mother giving him Aslaug, which is all a fuzzy blur in my addled mind.
My arms and legs hurt from the near hypothermia last night, and my thighs are slick with arousal. I dreamed of Shaw joining me in the tub, making my heart further entangled than I intended.
Aslaug is gone, out in the forest, hopefully hunting and putting plenty of space between Harald’s awful men and herself. I wait alone for the sun to fully awaken and the day of sitting with Harald at the Yule log to begin.
Sitting up, I pull Shaw’s shirt off my body and lay back down. We smell like one another. Ice and fire, honeyed wine and holly berries. The combination is enough to make me want to pleasure myself.
Pushing the blankets off, I shiver in the cold air and pray to the goddess that I will somehow be released from the infatuation overwhelming me. I pray that my blood seeping through the ice is enoughto awaken Skadi in any form and show me the way to her bow. Maybe Shaw really does have a map that is worth something? We could buy or bargain our way out of bending a knee to Harald and the King.
Shaw’s hazel’s eyes roaming over my naked body in his room take precedence in my tortured mind. We were slightly tipsy when I touched his chest, laid a hand on his thigh, and leaned into his powerful pull. He might have dipped his beautiful jaw into my neck or carried me to bed, but my memory is a blur.
I wanted to ask him to stay, that much I know. My hands travel over my body the way I wanted his hands to, caressing my stomach until my heart flutters against my ribs, and my legs fall open on the soft mattress.
I am alone.
The thought comforts me, and I trace the outside of my wet cunt. If I need him in this way, how will I agree to marry Harald? My chest tightens in panic, and I decide to let go of fearing what is to come. At least for this moment.
