When I took it off her, I placed it to the side of the hearth, so I guess he didn’t see it inside the cabin.
Even so, it seems to mean something to him because the muscles in his jaw tense.
“Straight from the feast,” he mutters, but his attention returns quickly to me. “Why didn’t you leave her there?”
I don’t have an easy answer. He seems to have some knowledge of the Einherjar because of the way he spoke about our cloth, but telling him about my light feels dangerous.
Instead, I say, “Because she didn’t deserve to freeze to death.”
“Deserve?” Malak arches his eyebrows at me. “You couldn’t possibly know anything about her or what she deserves. Perhaps she has committed atrocities too cruel and depraved to speak of. Even for us.” He leans toward me. “Does her beauty convince you she is innocent of any wrongdoing?”
“No,” I say. “Beauty can be deceptive.”
“Then why save her?”
He’s right that I know nothing about her or what she could have done or why she was in the snow or even why her own father wanted to leave her there, but I know my own heart.
“Destiny,” I say.
Malak purses his lips. “Ah. Destiny. The Einherjar live and die according to the fates given to them by the gods, do they not?”
“They do.”
“What fate was given to you, Boy?” he asks, peering into my eyes.
I answer as truthfully as I can. “How can I possibly know?”
“Hmph.” He rests back on his heels, tapping the fingers of his left hand against his thigh for a long moment.
Finally, he says, “You saved her hands. For that, I will give you a life: yours or your brother’s.”
It seems he intends to let one of us live, but no doubt he will play a cruel game of choice with me.
“Two hands,” I say, trying to keep the strain from my voice. “I saved them both. That deserves two lives. Mineandmy brother’s.”
He considers me coldly. “But only one hand matters,” he says. “Therefore, only one life can be saved.”
I watched the way the Blacksmiths used their right hands to wield their metal, even swapping their weapons to their left hands so they could free up their right hands to transform more of their metal.
I exhale heavily. I can’t see Thoren’s face, but his quiet denial reaches me loud and clear.
“No,” he says. “Not me.”
He must believe that of the two of us, I have the greater chance of survival.
But I have the stronger light. If I’m facing death anyway, I will use my deep light to kill these Blacksmiths before my end. My brother will remain free.
“My brother,” I say.
“No,” Thoren’s whisper is harsh. “No!”
Malak ignores Thoren and tilts his head at me. “Are you sure, Boy?”
“I chose to save her hand,” I say, fighting the way my blood pounds in my ears. “I choose for you to spare my brother’s life.”
Malak’s expression doesn’t change. “Self-sacrifice for family.” His jaw tightens again. “So very pointless.”
He turns to Kalith, rising to his feet as he speaks. “Kill the younger one. Leave the older one alive. We will take him back with us.”
