"I don't know." Hrolf picks up the mallet. "I hope so."
The dwarf pauses, taking in my appearance.
"What happened out there, lad?" Those keen eyes miss nothing.
I can't answer.
How the fuck do I form the words to explain how I've destroyed the only good thing in my cursed existence.
Hrolf waits patiently. Dwarves are good at waiting. They live long enough to learn patience.
"My wife is dying and it's my fault." The words escape as a broken whisper.
The dwarf is quiet for a long moment. I can hear him breathing in the darkness.
"You love her," he finally says.
Something breaks open behind my ribs. I look away and cross to the empty cell beside his to fall apart in private.
"If you love her then have faith, lad." Hrolf's voice follows me through the bars.
Faith.
I'm not good at prayer. Never have been. I don't know the right words or the right forms. But I try anyway. To any god that might listen.
If there's truly a god or seventy-seven gods like the elves worship, please let her live.
I don't care what you take from me. Take my years. Take my strength.
Please. Take me instead. Let her wake up and laugh and smile and see another sunrise.
Send the pain to me. All of it. Every wound she's suffering, give it to me. I can take it. I'm already damned. But she deserves to live.
Rhianelle deserves to be happy.
But gods don't answer monsters.
24
Chapter 23 Svenn
The prison is quiet except for the occasional soft lap of the receding flood against stone. The torch on the wall flickers, casting shadows that dance across it. I sit with my back against the cold stone wall listening to Rhianelle's faint heartbeat.
My hands are cleaner now, the black tar-like substance dissolved into the water around me. But I can still smell the sulfur and rot. The stench of Hel clings to my clothes, my hair, under my nails.
Footsteps echo down the corridor. Multiple sets of boots splashing through the flooded hallway fast.
My head snaps up.
The prison door slams open with force that echoes through the dungeons like thunder.
Eyepatch stands silhouetted in the doorway.
His sword is drawn.
Even in the dim light, I can see that something has overtaken him completely.
Sorrow and wrath.
