Page 34 of A Darkness So Sweet

It was better this way. Filled with wild abandon that eased some knot inside of her.

Or maybe that was the healing magic that dripped down her back, like he was painting her. Long slow strokes of magic, even though he wasn’t touching her.

Then his deep voice quietly interrupted her thoughts. “There is a certain kind of mushroom in my homeland. The trolls are known for growing it. We can do much with that mushroom, but my favorite is to cook it simply with garlic and butter from our cows. You’ve never tasted a sweeter mushroom in your life, and it feels indulgent to eat it. Even if it is common to grow in Trollkin.”

“Do you know what my people would call it?”

“I believe you call them morels.”

She’d seen them before. They were delicious when cooked right, and a little finicky to grow.

Now, she wasn’t sure what to say next. Morels were hard to find where she was from. Few people knew how to grow them, and even fewer knew how to find them in the woods. It wasn’t like a lot of people were wandering into the forest, anyway.

She couldn’t have thought of another thing to say because he started tohum. His voice was already a baritone, but it dropped into a voice so deep it was like the earth itself was singing. Like the depths of a mountain had opened up, and the call was the very roots of trees that had grown for a thousand years. The song was simple, more like a nursery rhyme, but it moved through her bones and vibrated every part of her being. So lovely. So deep that it made her bones rumble.

And when he stopped singing, she wanted to ask him to continue. To keep going, even though it might seem strange that she wanted to listen to him hum. Was it odd to ask?

But then he stood up again, and she didn’t say a single word. He’d think her a silly little thing with her head not quite screwed on right. After all, he’d probably just been humming to keep himself concentrated on healing.

Her back no longer ached, like even the bruises were gone from where she’d fallen on rough stones.

“That feels much better,” she murmured, rocking her shoulders a bit. “Thank you for that. You didn’t have to heal me.”

He grunted before shifting her so her side was facing the fire. Then he sat down in front of her and took her hand in his lap. Unfortunately, that meant he also grabbed onto her wrist.

At her little high-pitched noise of discomfort, he froze.

Right, she should just tell him, so he didn’t think she was hiding that too. “When I fell in the creak that first day, I think I hurt my wrist. I don’t think it’s all that serious. I can still rotate it. It just... hurts to do.”

His frown deepened, but then he rotated her wrist for her. Up and down, side to side, watching for when she tensed or flinched in pain.

“Green,” he muttered.

And she hadn’t the faintest idea what he was talking about. “Green?”

He nodded. The cool touch of his power flared again between them, this time in a shackle around her wrist that tightened with a pinch before she felt it start working.

Was he losing his mind? Or did he have some odd way of focusing his magic? She wasn’t sure what he was muttering about, as he stared at her wrist with almost too much concentration.

“And violets,” he said quietly. “Violets are my favorite flower.”

Was he... answering all her questions? Every single one, in the order that she had asked them? Maia didn’t even remember what she’d asked, let alone in what order. She’d just blurted out a bunch of random questions that weren’t all that important for her to have answered. If she didn’t know his favorite flower, that wouldn’t be the end of the world.

But now she did know his favorite flower. “The tiny purple ones?” she asked, just to clarify.

“They grow outside of caves. They’re hardy and strong, and the first sign that winter is over and spring has come.”

“I think that’s a lovely reason to like a flower.” And it was far more deep than she was expecting out of him. But then again, she was constantly surprised by this troll, who was supposed to be a beast yet seemed to be anything but.

She bit her lips and stared down at their hands. His dark claws were so close to the veins in her wrist, yet now she wasn’t afraid he was going to use them. Perhaps this tumultuous start had been a good thing. She’d needed to see the worst of him, to know that his best was... well, better than just that of a murderous troll who was coming to destroy her home.

He turned her hand gently, tracing his fingers over the deep wounds in her palm. “And I think about the future constantly. I worry about what path my people will have to walk to stay alive. I fear what your people are planning to do to mine and how our numbers have already dwindled. The joining of our peoples was supposed to stem the flow of hatred that always leads us back to war. And without the binding, my powers are limited to what I now know how to do. If we are at war again, I won’t be able to heal as many people as I’ll need to.”

Her heart broke for him. Without thinking, she turned her hand in his and laced their fingers together. “It’s not up to you to save your people. One single person cannot change the hearts and minds of countless others. There would be no war if there were not so many who hated each other. The fear that causes all the strain and stress and strife was not born out of your mind. It’s not up to you to fix it.”

Ragnar’s haunted gaze met hers. “We all have to try to fix it. If there is but one person who says they don't matter, then there are a hundred, or a hundred more than that who agree. So many people saying they cannot make a difference will lead to no one even trying,” he said. “I will be the first to make the change, and others will follow suit.”

There was so much more to this troll than she ever would have guessed. And it stung to know she had been so wrong about him, and perhaps his kind.

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