Page 67 of A Darkness So Sweet

“Ragnar.” She wanted to say it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t even been there until the last moment.

But he didn’t let her speak. Instead, he merely tugged her into his arms and kept her silent, holding her close to his heart as his cool, healing magic filtered through her. She could feel his power convincing her body to knit together, to heal, to relax her muscles that were a little too stiff.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her hair. “I will find some way to fix this.”

But she wasn’t all that certain it could be fixed.

ChapterTwenty-Eight

RAGNAR

Ragnar watched her sleep with a troubled mind and a hardened heart. His people wanted Maia dead. That much was certain. Trolls were a fickle bunch, but they also desired to have some retribution for what her people had done. He could see it in the way they moved around her, in the stones they had thrown and the pain in their chests whenever they looked at what had been done to their beautiful home.

The trolls’ entire culture was based around righting wrongs. They were the ones who had been injured. Their people had been killed, their homes destroyed, all the safety and comfort of Trollveggen ruined because of what the humans had done.

He supposed there was still anger left in him as well. He hadn’t told her the entire truth of all that he had done. The screams of those dying men were still a song he thought of in his mind when he grew too angry at her. He had gotten his own revenge. But many of the troll people had not.

Fixing this wouldn’t be easy. Ragnar had a reputation that he could fall back on. Many of the trolls might not have liked that he was married to her, but they knew what he had done for them. Healing their people had been in his bloodline for many ages, as the gift had been his mother’s before it was his.

Maia had helped heal them, too. They had softened toward her when they’d realized her magic had convinced his own to keep going, and that it was her touch that had eased his torment while he’d healed them. She’d won much support in doing that, although his people had conveniently forgotten that now that hers had attacked them.

It wouldn’t get better without intervention.

Maia stirred in her sleep, and he breathed out a long sigh as he tucked the strands of her hair behind her ear. None of this was her fault. She hadn’t ordered her people to attack, nor did he believe that she had been sent here as a spy. Her king had used her to deceive them, proof that humans would never work with trolls.

King James likely believed that he had sent her to her death. He perhaps even intended that the trolls would quickly realize that she wasn’t the princess—how they hadn’t realized sooner he would never know—and kill her. There were many calling for it, so Ragnar supposed the human king hadn’t been all that wrong.

Still. He wouldn’t let it happen to his own troll wife. Not when there was still honor in his body and breath in his lungs.

He needed to prove to the other trolls that she was valuable and not dangerous. If he could do that, then perhaps at the next attack, they wouldn’t be so quick to see her as human. Those ties had to be knotted around each and every troll. They had to see her as one of their own.

And in doing that, perhaps they would forgive her for being what she was.

He could do this. There were places he could take her, and trolls he could introduce her to who weren’t so hardened that they wouldn’t be able to see past her size and strange eyes. They would recognize the usefulness of her tiny hands, or perhaps see the magic that had been building in her since their blood had bonded.

It wasn’t much. She would never be able to heal the masses or stop storms from coming onto their mountain. But perhaps he could still find use for her.

Ragnar stood from the bed, creeping out of the room so he wouldn’t wake her. Healing always made people sleepy, and perhaps he had used a bit of his magic to convince her to rest more thoroughly, so he didn’t have to talk to her about all of this. Not yet, at least. Soon, they would talk about everything. But right now, he simply did not know what to say. There were no excuses for his people’s actions.

He left his home with a purpose now, though. The plan built in his mind as he strode down the streets of his home, eyeing the piles of stone and rubble that many trolls had left outside their homes. Someone would come to take those rocks out soon enough. But for now, they were a reminder of what had happened.

But then, as he rounded a corner, the entire city seemed to open up. The massive gardens as the heart of Trollveggen were filled with plants that his troll wife had likely never seen. They grew in the darkness and the meager light provided by the wisps. Massive plants that were rooted into the ground. Some of them were ancient, ones that the elves themselves had grown. Some of the brightly colored leaves were larger than he was tall and hid glowing berries that were used in medicinal spells. Flowers could easily fill his hands with their pollen, the tiny specks lifting up into the air as they passed and emitted the sweet scent of powdered sugar. So many plants turned the gardens into a veritable feast for the senses.

Neat rows lead in spirals away from the center, creating a labyrinth that many found hard to get through. He knew his way around fairly well and also knew that all the spiraling paths led to a cottage in the center. It was a small, quaint stone building that had been mortared together by years of hard labor and a troll who wanted nothing more than to be left alone by everyone and anything that bothered him.

The garden thrived under the touch of loving hands. Green magic made all the plants grow when they shouldn’t, and such magic was limited. There was only so much anyone could do here. Although, clearly the plants were loving where they were. A wisp darted past him. The blue shimmering light had little striations that made it appear like a ball of lighting as it zipped along the ground. Most of the wisps ended up here. Someone had once told him it was because they liked to be in gardens where things were ever changing.

Then there was the troll at the heart of it all. The man who had taken care of this garden for decades, and who was known to be far more sullen than any other troll in this mountain.

It was a terrible plan, but it was the only one he had. If he could convince Birger to like Maia, then everyone else would quickly follow suit. If only because they were shocked the old troll could like anything.

“Who goes there?” the ancient troll called out, his voice already sullen with dislike.

“Ragnar.”

“Who?”

“The healer,” Ragnar replied with a chuckle. “You’ve seen me nearly every week for years now, Birger. You know who I am.”

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