Grim shakes his head, and an air of defeat settles over him. “Evie wanted a good man through and through. She would never have faced such a disturbing fate if I had been better.”
The memory of Sigvid torturing Finn plays out in her mind. That was not love, but it was sure someone doing everything to keep her safe.
“Taking the good with the bad is part of love, I would like to think.” Avina offers. “Sometimes doing the right thing means making the choice others might view as wrong.”
Grim did not respond while a group of women singing Solstice Salt chants pass by.
“That is the difference. Evie wanted the beacon of morality. You don’t want the hero. I doubt you ever have. You want the villain who will tear down the world in your name.”
She swallows dryly. Grim’s words resound in her soul, bearing an uncomfortable truth. She knows what he is angling at, and she will not bite on the topic of Sigvid. “You are a good man, Grim. I think you need to acknowledge that once in a while.”
“It’s hard to accept parts of us. Even the pieces lying right on the surface.” His midnight eyes twinkle in the lights.
“You are annoyingly insightful.” She scoffs.
“I have been told that once or twice.” He chuckles and steps away, bowing. “Your Majesty, I am headed for reportedly the best grilled salmon south of Astria. Care to join me?”
She smiles but shakes her head. “I need to stable the animals for the evening. As always, it is a pleasure.” Avina meanders along the cobblestone, winding back toward the northern gate and Blackwood.
Somewhere along the way, she gets lost between the longhouse and her favorite bakery, Svala’s. Forgetting which gate she needs to exit, she ends up outside the walls on an earthen path, barely classified as a road.
She dons her hood over her wild curls as a light dusting of snow falls.
Where am I?Avina’s stomach growls low.I should have indulged in that sweet roll from Svala’s when I first entered Toftlund.
There are no tracks in the falling white powder, and by the time she second-guesses her decision to exit the city, she sees the guards locking the gate for the night. They extinguish the lanterns dangling from the shell-crushed wall, plunging the trail into darkness.
She could interrupt their work but doesn’t want to inconvenience them. Besides, Blackwood is out here in the forest of white blanketed trees. Thora will be back from her friend’s house and light the central fireplace. The floor-to-ceiling windows will turn the inn into a lighthouse of the woods.
Thanks, Sigvid, for forcing me up late last night. If he hadn’t allowed me to finish three times, I would have slapped him for forcing me into this perpetual lack of sleep.
A long nap in his oversized chair by the fireplace–with Nellie curled in her lap–sounds terrific.
Rising along the path is a giant circular mausoleum lit with iron braziers. However, the Salt people have never buried their dead in the kingdom's history. Their dead have always returned to the sea, where they believe they will descend into the halls of their Briny God.
The wind whistles through the trees and a nearby wolf howls. The pack echoes his call in a chorus of eerie barks and whines.
She increases her pace until she reaches the metal doors of the circular structure sealed to the elements. Shadows from theflickering lights of the braziers dance across a flat stone monument just outside the building.
It must be safer inside. Right?
Using all her strength, she wrenches open one of the doors and slides into the surprisingly heated space. Directly before her is a downward staircase with spiderwebs strung in the corners. The stale stench of decay sits in the air, and she can hear distant male voices below as she enters an orange glow.
Creepy voices or wolves? The mysterious voices will be less likely to turn me into a snack.
Small metal plaques on the walls surround Avina. Her curiosity drifts to the side, and she pursues the names. Not until she reaches King Thord Hilmirsson does she recognize one of the venerated nameplates.
Interesting. The mausoleum is not a burial plot but a recognition of life. Of past leaders? Yet, not all the names bear a title.
She is about to descend the stairs when she spots a massive square plaque on the far wall opposite the main doors. In large, bold letters, it reads:
GUARDIANS OF THE KEEPER
ENTOMBED IN THIS STONE CRYPT ARE THE ETERNAL MEMORIES OF THE MEN AND WOMEN WHO DEDICATED THEIR LIVES TO PROTECTING THE SACRED STONES AND THOSE WHO KEPT THEM. THEIR STEADFAST LOYALTY TO OUR GODS REPRESENTS THE FEALTY ALL THOSE IN TRELAND SHOULD STRIVE TOWARD.
The rounded room of names honoring the dead Guardians hits home like a slap to the face.
He will guard me until his dying breath.
