Page 82 of Storm of Fury
Bryn turned away from the tapestry, swallowing the lump in her throat. It was this that hurt the most. Friends—sisters—turning away from her, horror and condemnation in their eyes. She had lost her mother with a single blow, but then she’d lost her entire world.
“Most did. A handful argued on my behalf. In order to prove myself, I challenged Róta to a duel in the name of Freyja. She managed to disarm me using a trick, and I had no choice but to take up my mother’s sword to defend myself. It should have been proof enough. A Valkyrie’s sword is blooded to her in battle. No hand can take it from hers unwillingly. If a murderer sought to take up the blade upon the Valkyrie’s death, then it would turn upon her at the first opportunity. The blade lit up, and some said it was a sign of Freyja’s mercy. But others argued that I shared Kára’s blood and the sword merely recognized it. There was enough doubt that I was offered exile instead of death, but the gates to Valhalla are closed to me forever.”
Bryn’s hand moved unerringly to take the hilt, before she realized it was no longer with her. “So that is the true story of your Brightfeather. She’s a myth, Tormund. And I am all that is left of her. Broken. Honorless. And nothing more than a mercenary.”
He scrubbed at his chin thoughtfully, but the words he chose took her by surprise. “Just how old are you?”
A breathless laugh escaped her. “That’s what you say? I tell you the entire bloody story, and you’re concerned with my age?”
“Curious. Not concerned.”
“I am old enough to know better than to dabble with a man I have no future with,” she told him.
“You keep using these words. ‘Dabble.’ And ‘fun.’” He took a step toward her, the scent of his soap sending a shiver through her. Too close. Too large. Too… much of everything she desired. “Does it make you feel safer to pretend what we share is nothing more than an attraction?”
She grounded herself, refusing to retreat. “What’s the alternative?”
“Forever,” he said promptly.
“Thereisno forever between us, Tormund. There is no future. There never has been. Solveig promised me the written confession of Róta if I delivered Marduk to her. The second she gives it to me, I am gone forever. It’s my only chance to clear my name and return home.
And while I may remember you as the man who almost tempted me toward romance, I will outlive you by centuries.”
He paused. “Her written confession…. Is that why you betrayed me?”
Curse him. Could he not hear what she was saying?
“Yes. A thousand times yes. You have a cousin who would give his life for you. You can afford to pick and choose the jobs you take. I don’t have someone to watch my back. I don’t have a family out there that I can sail home to one day. I’m a woman who can fight better than most men, and yet, every village I walk into, I have to prove myself all over again. You think me mercenary? I’ve spent over a hundred years on this mortal plane, trying to scrape together a life. And the one thing I have learned is this: I’m the only one I can rely upon. And I need to feed myself somehow. Considering my sword arm is the only strength I own, you’ll forgive me if it’s what I use to survive.”
“It’s not the sword I have a problem with,” he snapped.
“No?” Bryn splayed her hand flat at the base of her throat, where theSaduclaw usually hung. “Perhaps you call it betrayal, but my loyalties were to Solveig and her clan. They’re the only ones who have ever shown me shelter or kindness. You were a stranger to me. A job.”
There. There was the heat in his dark eyes.
Tormund stepped closer, and she hated the fact she had to tip her chin up to meet his gaze. “Is thatallI was?” he demanded in a husky voice.
The words tripped on her tongue.
Freyja help her, but she couldn’t say it.
Not while he was looking at her like this. Not with the heat of his body so close to hers. All it would take would be a simple movement to reach out and touch him.
And she wanted it so badly.
Bryn swallowed. Hard. “I am not the woman you think I am. Solveig offered me redemption. All I had to do was find the prince, and she would give me the chance to clear my name. You took one look at me and you decided I was something I wasn’t. You created a fantasy in your mind, and I amnotresponsible for the perceptions you made of me.”
“No? And what the hell did I imagine of you?” Anger vibrated through him.
“There’s no point—”
He captured her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Tell me the truth, damn you. I thought you glorious. You were reckless, and hard, and fierce. You were beautiful and fiery and though you try to hide it, kind. I thought you a woman I could finally hope to court. One I could—"
“You thought me a woman you could call your own,” she shot back.
“Yes.” His breath scoured her lips. “Yes, I thought you the woman I could finally call my own.” But the way he said it wasn’t the way she’d meant it. “Mine, Bryn. Mine to hold. Mine to cherish. Mine tolove.”
He may as well have dumped a bucket of ice water over her head.
