“Time,” she murmured, smothering a yawn. It was a thing she’d once taken for granted. But after the harrowing weeks they’d endured, she’d gained new appreciation for it.
“You must rest,” Kassandr said softly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Tomorrow, we sail.”
Saga’s eyelids had grown heavy, but they jerked open at that. “Tomorrow?”
A lazy smile curved her husband’s lips. “Is my wedding gift to you, my beautiful wife. Tomorrow we sail for Íseldur.”
Skip Notes
*1Little bird.
*2My queen.
Chapter 55
The Western Woods
Hekla dreamed of trees so tall, they scraped the skies; of wolves the size of horses. She strode into the grove that marked the heart of the woods. Life and pure vigor flowed all around her. For a moment, she could see every minute happening in the forest: the way the hjarta tree on her right gifted nutrients through an underground labyrinth to the sapling on her left; the raven who knocked cones from the canopy, scattering seeds below; the insects tilling the soil and the mushrooms feasting on the detritus of the forest.
But then she saw it all reverse—the hjarta tree pulling life from the sapling until it became a brittle skeleton of itself. Then came the mist—and the raven’s form was breaking, shifting, re-forming into something new. Misshapen wings, glowing red eyes, talons that longed to tear into flesh.
She woke with a start, the decaying scent of the woods heavy in her nose. But there was also something else—someoneelse. Eyvind. Her cheek pressed against the firm muscles of his back. In sleep, she’d curled further into him, seeking the heat of his body.
As Hekla shifted, a symphony of aches rose up within her—sharp and hot from the wound in her thigh, dull and throbbing at the base of her skull. River stones and pine needles dug into her hip, and herstomach growled loudly. But none of it mattered, because the skin against her cheek was warm.
Eyvind had survived the night.
Consumed by emotion she refused to examine, Hekla wriggled herself up into a sitting position. Carefully, she peeled back Eyvind’s bandage and inspected his wound. Morning light filtered through the open end of their shelter, illuminating the swelling, reddened skin along his side. Her stitches were uneven, and not perfectly tight. But the bleeding had stopped and Eyvind’s breaths came in a slow, even rhythm.
Blinking furiously, Hekla climbed to her feet. Goosebumps broke out across her skin, making her overtly aware that she was completely nude. She climbed over Eyvind and added several pieces of wood to the fire before assessing the clothing she’d laid out the night before. Though cold to the touch, the thinner woolen layers had mostly dried. Eagerly, she climbed into her clothing.
“Liked you better without it,” mumbled a voice.
Hekla’s gaze darted to Eyvind, and then she was rushing, falling to her knees, words tumbling from her. “Thank the gods,” and, “I didn’t know if you’d make it through the night,” and, “Don’t you ever do that again, you reckless arse.”
Eyvind squinted at her with a dopey smile. “Awful lot of trouble you’ve gone to just to see me naked.”
Hekla was too glad to hear his voice to let his words irritate her. “You frightened me.”
Eyvind’s smile fell to something softer. “I’m fine, Lynx.”
She flinched at the name. “What were you thinking, trying to bait that spider away—”
“I could read the plans written all over your face. Perhaps you are jealous I got there first.”
Eyvind grunted as he tried to rise to a sitting position, but Hekla was there, looping an arm around his shoulder.
“Let me help you.” Hekla eased him upright while trying not to look down at his extremely naked body. “Better?” she asked.
Eyvind nodded, watching her intently. “Where’s your arm?”
Hekla glanced down at her undertunic, right sleeve hanging empty. “I-it was lost in the water,” she said glumly. Being without her arm—without the added protection of her claws—felt like a part of her very being was missing, but Hekla tried for a flippant air. “Pity, we’ve been through much, that arm and I.”
Somehow she knew he saw straight through her words. “We’ll find it,” Eyvind assured her. And a foolish part of her was delighted at his use of the word “we.”
Giving herself a mental shake, Hekla fetched a waterskin and portion of salt cod, then handed them to Eyvind. For a moment, they chewed in companionable silence, Hekla trying to ignore the warm prickles rushing down her spine. It was impossible to forget that she knew the stories of his scars and the wobbly dragon tattoo on his naked torso. Even more impossible to forget the pleasure that body had wrought from hers.
Instead, she tried to focus on the miraculous—Eyvind had survived the night; he was now sitting upandeating. Hours ago, this had felt impossible.
