Surprise jostled through her. “You don’t have to.”
He glanced at her sidelong and smiled. “For some reason, Iwantto share with you. Perhaps you have sage wisdom to dispense.”
Hekla snorted, wondering if anyone had ever deemed hersage. “Very well.”
“Do you ever feel like no matter what you do, you’re not enough? It’s not enough?”
“Every gods-damned day,” Hekla muttered, thinking of Loftur.
The Fox exhaled, gaze drifting to the rafters. “My mother died while birthing me, and my father has never forgiven me for it.” He said it in a rush, as though each word pained him, and getting it out quickly lessened the agony.
“So perhaps,” he said softly, “all the scars you worshipped?—”
“And the dragon.”
“And the dragon.” His lips pulled into a smile. “Perhaps they weren’t earned from a life well-lived. Perhaps, they were a plea for attention. An attempt to get my father to see me as more than the person who took his love away from him.” Sadness filled the Fox’s expression, and something inside Hekla woke up and growled.
His gaze suddenly shifted into a look of determination. “But I have been granted a second chance.”
Hekla watched him carefully, trying to understand.
“My father has entrusted me with an important task. And when I complete it, he will see me as worthy.”
“Fox,” sighed Hekla. “Youareworthy.” Her fingersslid into his beard, and she drew his gaze toward her. “It is hard to learn that sometimes those we love most are undeserving.”
He blinked and looked ready to argue, but she cut him off with the press of her lips. When the Fox drew back, she was glad to see no trace of sadness in his eyes.
“Break your rule,” he whispered. “Spend the night with me.”
A lump formed in her throat as Hekla’s gaze bounced from one hazel eye to the other. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“Can,” murmured the man, rolling onto his side and hauling her back against his chest. “You do it like this.”
Hekla’s heart hammered against her ribcage, her muscles rigid.
“Close your eyes,” whispered the Fox, settling closer. Hekla did so, focusing on the heat of his chest behind her. Gradually, the tension in her body eased, her breaths slowing into rhythmic pulls.
She shouldn’t stay the night. Knew she’d regret it. But for once, Hekla couldn’t bring herself to care. Sleep crept from the corners of her mind, and she found herself falling into darkness.
The last thought Hekla had before sleep consumed her, was that though her rules were meant to keep her safe, perhaps they’d only shackled her.
SEVENTEEN
PRESENT DAY
Hekla stared bleary-eyed at the pair of saddlesacks laid out on her bed. Gunnar had gallantly shared his horse with Hekla, delivering her back to Istré, where she’d promptly requested bathwater delivered to her chambers. She’d sent Eyvind’s red cloak to be washed and returned to him. Her hair was now clean, the putrid black blood thankfully scrubbed from her skin. Yet, Hekla could not seem to cleanse herself of the shame.
I gave you a second chance, but Hekla, there will not be a third. You must leave Istré immediately.
Eyvind’s words were burned into her skin, but it was the eyes of his retinue that haunted her most. Every male warrior in his crew had witnessed her reprimand, and it was as good as confirming their every bias. She was an emotional woman, reckless and inept. And though Hekla had been fully covered by Eyvind’s cloak, in that moment, she’d felt utterly bared.
Even remembering it now—that self-satisfied look in Konal’s eye and the knowing glances shared amongst Eyvind’s warriors—was enough to make her insides writhe in discomfort. Thrown from the job. Never in five years had she felt so powerless. Blood thunderingin her ears, tears burning in her eyes, Hekla was back in that shed, her husband looming over her with the axe...
Hekla wrenched her prosthetic arm off and hurled it across the room. It slammed into the wall, then crashed to the floor. Immediately, her chest twinged with regret, but she ignored it and reached for her sword instead. With forced calmness, she laid it on her bed. The steel gleamed against the coarse wool fibers, and she allowed herself a moment to lament. This weapon was designed for the left hand, a rarity amongst warriors. It might take time for this sword to find a new wielder, but she was certain it would find one far worthier than she.
Was it wrong for Hekla to feel such relief that the Istré job was no longer her problem? She could unshackle herself from Loftur and his rules and liberate herself as leader of the Bloodaxe Crew. It was time to go back to worrying about herself.
“Done,” she muttered. “I’m done.” Hekla took one last look at her sword before turning to the door.
