Page 118 of A Light So Blinding
What was there to say to a man like that? A man who should have loved her. A man who had tried to kill her rather than care for a child he had helped create.
And who was her mother? What woman had been forced to bear a child, likely under duress? The king wouldn’t take no for an answer, not from any woman. What had happened to her mother?
These were answers she would never get. The king watched every expression on her face before he shook his head in disapproval.
“Now, girl, you know the truth. And you are likely the only one to ever know it. You can take that to your grave, as payment for letting me go.”
“I don’t want to let you go.”
“You have no choice. You should have been dead back there, after one of my soldiers slit your throat. I’m letting you live now,so it’s a trade. You wouldn’t want to kill your own father, would you?”
She felt something cold growing in her chest. Something that was so unlike her she almost didn’t recognize this part of herself.
After all, she had spent so much time dreaming up what her father would be like. All the while, she’d been the perfect priestess. Astrid had known everything that was happening in every part of the kingdom. She’d kept secrets. She’d played out every opportunity for what the future would be so she could appropriately prepare for whatever happened.
But right now, she didn’t want to prepare. She wanted revenge.
“I wouldn’t want to kill my father,” she replied, straightening her shoulders. “But you made it very clear that I am not your daughter.”
Bjorn lunged forward, as though her words untethered a leash that held him in place. Astrid did not hide her face this time. She watched as he tore through the guards, one by one. It didn’t matter that they stuck swords in him, that they slashed at his skin or that they tried to shoot him with arrows. He did not stop until he loomed above the king.
Then Bjorn grabbed him by the back of the neck and twisted. Slowly. She could see the panic in the king’s eyes, and the way he tried desperately to get away. But she could also see the realization that he wasn’t getting out of this one. He peered into the future, his eyes going white, and then all she could see was despair. There was no future where he survived.
The snap of his neck echoed through the hall, and he fell limp in Bjorn’s grasp.
Her beloved troll let the body drop and wiped his hands on his already bloody pants, as though he could clean them.
The angry energy seemed to drop from him, then he listed to the side, reaching out one massive arm to brace himself upon the wall.
“Bjorn?” she asked, rushing to his side and planting her hand on his chest. She couldn’t hold him up, though. He was too massive. “What do you need?”
“Ragnar,” he breathed.
“Where is he?”
“Back with the others. Tending to the wounded.”
Ragnar’s voice boomed through the corridor. “I am not, in fact. Astrid, I need you to move. Time is of the essence.”
She stood to the side, wringing her hands as she watched Ragnar work. His cool magic immediately healed many of the wounds dotting Bjorn’s body, but there were still so many oozing blood. She could hardly see where they were because he was so covered in red, and how much of it was his? How much of it was others?
Their gazes met, and Bjorn gave her a little sad smile. “I’m all right,” he said, giving her a firm nod. “I’ll be fine, Astrid. I’ll be fine.”
She wasn’t so sure he was correct. But she would stand here waiting for him to get better. No matter what.
Forty-Five
Bjorn
“So we are at war,” King Egil murmured, seated upon his throne.
The troll king never sat comfortably, but Bjorn supposed that was partly due to his wings. There wasn’t a way for Egil to sit that didn’t twist his wings to the sides or turn his entire body in the opposite direction. He ended up looking like a giant bird stretched across his chair, with his wings draped painfully around him.
The strange look of him was terrifying, to say the least. King Egil was horrific and powerful and had every right to end Bjorn’s life. He had gone against every single order, and perhaps every single sense of reason as well.
Sure, he could argue that the berserker within him had made the call. The human king had been prey. He’d been running away from someone who was designed to hunt and kill, but that wasn’t why he was dead. Bjorn loathed liars. He had been in control in that moment. He had known every single thing he was doingwhen he had his hand wrapped around that weaselly little man’s throat.
Humans were so easy to kill. So much easier than they should’ve been. Bjorn had only needed to twist his hand before death had come for King James.
