Page 120 of Storm of Fury
The answer scared her. She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out.
Nobody had ever asked her if she was happy.
She was Valkyrie. She had fulfilled the destiny her mother had planned for her. She’d made hermotherhappy. And then… she’d lost it all.
But willyoube happy if you return to Valhalla?
Will vengeance fill that hole within you?
Will justice make his loss seem worth it?
She froze.
“When I was younger, Bryn, my mother told me that happiness doesn’t come from other people’s expectations. Happiness cannot be found when you try to be what others want you to be. What doyouwant of your life? Who doyouwant to be?”
Gods, she didn’t even know.
Bryn curled her fingers into a fist. “I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to start something I cannot finish.”
“I think it’s far too late for that, is it not?” Leah glanced pointedly to where Tormund was staring at them with a faint frown on his brow, as children tugged at his shirt.
The breath escaped Bryn.
“He will love you, if you let him,” Leah said, patting her hand as she moved to rescue him from the children. “But the question is: Will you let yourself love him?”
* * *
“Do I have to kill her?”Tormund asked, as Bryn stared moodily into the small pyre of kindling she’d put together, as if she could light it with her gaze.
She blinked. “Who?”
“Leah. You’ve barely spoken a word since this morning. And she made you cry. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
Bryn looked away into the dark forest, night settling over her like a mantle. “It was nothing.”
“She was warning you not to break my heart, wasn’t she?” Bloody cousins. Some part of him had desperately wanted to take Bryn home and introduce her to his family, but the damage had been written over her all day. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m made of sterner stuff than most men. I’ll heal.”
“Are you?” Bryn whispered. “She told me about your father.”
The words froze him on the spot. “I don’t know my father.”
“Then she told me about Sigurd. And your brother, Tomas.”
Well. Fuck. He kicked at a scuff of dirt. “Aye, what of them?”
“You don’t speak of your father.”
“You don’t speak of a lot of things. And so, if you want a secret, then I will trade you for a secret of your own, Bryn.”
Once upon a time, she would have scowled at him and stalked away, but she merely fed a handful of twigs into her little pile. “A secret for a secret, then. Tell me about them.”
His heart gave a little trill. He hadn’t expected her to agree, but she was clearly curious.
“There’s not much to say.” He shrugged when she shot him a glance. “There’s not. I can’t remember old Sigurd. He died when I was two. I’m told I don’t resemble him, nor my brother, and the whole bloody matter of my birth earned me nothing but their contempt. And they never let my mother forget her shame. It was what they did to her that I’ll never forgive.”
She sketched a rune in the dirt with a twig. “Haakon said you were desperate to forge your own name. I thought it was just a chance to be like him—Haakon Dragonsbane—but it’s not, is it?”
Tormund clasped his hands between his thighs.Well, hell. “You’re really aiming to get under my guard tonight, aren’t you?”
