Page 70 of The Daughter of the Scarred Elf

Kolfinna was more than happy to bolt out of the room.

15

Out in the hallway,Kolfinna couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t see where she was going. She couldn’t hear past the memory of Birgitta’s last breath. She couldn’t swim out of the darkness that was consuming her every thought. Her chest was tight. She could imagine herself dying the same way Birgitta had. All it would take would be a few words from Sijur. A command she couldn’t obey.

Her shoulder hit a wall and her world veered as she fell to her knees. She pushed herself to her feet, her bloody handprints smearing the wall in ominous streaks. She stumbled to her room once more. The cold seeped down to her bones and she wanted to curl under her blanket and remain there for hours. She didn’t want to think past the numbing pain in her chest or the guilt that twisted a dagger to her heart.

She walked and walked until she finally reached her room. When she twisted the doorknob, she was met with resistance. She pounded her fist against the door, her teeth chattering together.

No response.

Damn it.

She didn’t have time for this.

Kolfinna pounded on the door, harder this time. More blood painted the wall and she cursed herself again. Herja must’ve been in there, she decided because Inkeri was responsible enough to unlock the door immediately, while Herja could’ve fallen asleep and not cared who came and went or if someone needed something.

Suddenly, the door swung open, but instead of Herja’s angry scowl or Inkeri’s kind expression, she was met with a broad chest. And farther up, ice-blue eyes that could’ve chilled any soul.

“Kolfinna?” Blár looked down at her in confusion.

At first, she was confused too. She had gone to her room, but when she glanced around herself at the unfamiliar hallway, she realized she wasn’t even on the correct floor. She had never been here before.

The cold.

She had followed that familiar cold up here, to his room.

That realization struck her deep in her chest. She had followed the comfort of the cold up here, and something in her heart squeezed at the realization, at the implications.

No.

Another chill burst from him, dropping the temperature to sub-zero and wrenching her away from her thoughts. Those cold eyes seemed colder, harsher, and almostuncontrollableas he peered down at her with glacial fury.

She followed his gaze down to the dried blood smeared on her clothes, up her wrists, and crusted against her stinging hands. She looked like she had stepped out of a bloody battle.

“Who …” Blár clenched the doorhandle so tightly that ice spread across the metal, snapping and crackling in place. “Who did that to you?”

That unrelenting anger wasn’t pointed at her, but she still flinched nonetheless. “I …” She swallowed. Birgitta was dead, soit didn’t matter. And it wasn’t like she had tried to kill Kolfinna. She had tried to kill herself. She had rather kill herself than kill her son.

The fire flickering in the sconces in the hallway waned as another wave of cold rolled out from him. Kolfinna shivered, keeping her eyes to the floor. She should’ve excused herself and run back to her room where she had intended to go in the first place. She couldn’t, though. She wanted to stay here where the wintry chill actually felt comfortable.

Blár touched her shoulder. “Kolfinna?”

The frost-like touch brought her back to reality. Back to the hallway, to the cuts on her hands, the burning in the back of her eyes. To how helpless she felt at this moment and how she wanted to share it with him.

“Can I come inside?” she finally whispered. She hated how broken the words sounded to her own ears.

Blár studied her for a moment before cracking the door wider and motioning her inside wordlessly. The inside was plainer than she thought his room would be. Fur rugs were thrown underneath a four-poster king-sized bed with silk sheets. Thick velvet curtains hung over a giant window overlooking the forest that surrounded the fortress. A stone hearth roared with fire, and every bit of furniture seemed sturdy and made of solid wood.

Kolfinna fell onto the couch in front of the hearth. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the backrest. She heard Blár ease onto the seat beside her. The weight of his stare was heavy even with her eyes closed.

“What happened?” His voice was soft this time. “Who did this to you?”

“She’s dead now.” The fire snapped and crackled; it drew her attention away from her dark thoughts. “But it wasn’t even her fault. She was …”

Trying to commit suicide.

---