I followed it warily with my eyes. “What’s in the bag?”
“Body parts,” Freyja chirped with no hesitation.
I stilled at the edge of the cave, wind nipping at the wet, frozen strands of my hair.
“Sleeping bags, water, food, axes, crampons.” Gunnar rolled his shoulders, a chuckle shaking his voice. “Get in here before you freeze to death. And take that backpack off. You’ll need all the rest you can get before we hike the glacier.”
Hike. Ugh. I knew it. My backpack dropped to the floor with a thud.
Kneeling next to a ring of stones that held the remnants of a campfire, Gunnar took his magic into his hand and, as if it were melted wax, poured it onto the pile of charred logs.
Flames crackled to life, pulsing warmth over my cheeks while a bitter chill danced at my back. Rubbing my palms together, I reluctantly inched closer.
Freyja rolled out three mats, topping them each with fresh socks and a sleeping bag.
My brows furrowed. “Coincidence that there’s the perfect amount of stuff for all of us, or was this kidnapping planned all along?”
“Well, we have to pack enough gear for ourselves, and we always carry extra in case…” She looked me up and down with those arctic eyes. “…the situation permits.”
I blew out a sigh. I guessed it could be worse. At least they gave their captives beds.
After taking her heavy outer garments off, Freyja draped them over a boulder and plopped herself on top of her makeshift mattress.
Gunnar kicked off his boots, curling into his bedding.
The middle one remained open, inviting.
My body ached for rest.
Blowing warmth into my hands, I took another step inside, then another, and another, and the next thing I knew, I was fully in the ice cave, nuzzling down into the fleece.
Shadows from the fire flickered overhead, twisting with each loud snap.
Freyja rolled onto her other side, facing the embers. “Interesting day.”
“Yep,” I said to the ceiling. “Very interesting.”
A soft whistle floated up from Gunnar’s bed. I held in a laugh. He was already snoring.
Goosebumps broke out over my arms as a blast of cold hit me. The sweater Freyja had let me borrow was much better than what I was originally wearing, but it was damp and did little to retain any heat in these glacial temperatures. I burrowed deeper into the blankets.
“What were they saying about your dad?” It was hardly a whisper; I wondered if I had even said it out loud. And I sure as hell didn’t expect an answer.
“The truth.”
At first, I thought I was imagining it, until she flipped onto her back and her gaze briefly locked with mine before stalwartly fixing on some point far above our heads.
“My father was Commander of the Eyes, the queen’s right hand. The most intimidating warrior you ever laid eyes on—who wore honors from hundreds of battles, someone they wrote rímurs about”—a smile leached the strength from her voice—“but he always had time for me.”
A tentacle of guilt snuck around my chest as I thought about all the time my own dad had carved out for me.
“What about your mom?” I asked hesitantly.
A darkness crept over her face. “Too busy for me. It was my dad who actually spoke to me during the Jól festivities, my dad who snuck me an extra slice of cake after dinner and read me bedtime stories and took me to see the royal huskies.”
“Did you grow up in the castle, then?” Interlacing my fingers, I rested my palms on my stomach. “Since he held such an important position?”
“Yes.” She held her hand in the air, twisting it in the soft light. “Devoting myself to the kingdom, becoming an Eye, working my way up the ranks, felt like the best way to honor him.”
