Page 33 of A Light So Blinding
He was free.
Bjorn finally got control of himself, although it took some time. The joy and relief that burned through him were nearly impossible to grasp. Freedom such as this was only gifted once or twice in a lifetime. A part of him didn’t think he deserved to be free. But another, much larger part, was just glad that he was offered this opportunity.
Finally, the water turned clear, and he filled the old teapot with it before putting it onto the stove. He made the fire and then turned to see she was still in the same spot. Standing by the door, like an outsider who had no right to be in here.
“Come,” he said. “Let me tell you about Embla.”
“You are a man of few words, Bjorn. I didn’t think you knew how to tell a story.”
Perhaps he had been in the labyrinth. He’d had to be that person to keep his sanity and not lose his mind amid all the death and destruction there. But pieces of him were returning now, even the large piece that had enjoyed telling people stories.
He gestured again for her to come near the fireplace, although he could not light it. The stove would already be putting off smoke above the cottage, and he could only hope the humans were as dull as he thought they were. Hopefully they wouldn’t notice.
“Blood witches are similar to your kind. We do not fear them, although I understand your people might.”
“Anything labeled a witch is to be feared,” she murmured, but she took a few more steps into the room.
“Are you not a witch?”
“I have elven blood. A high and revered bloodline, although nowhere near that of the princess.” She brushed her hair away from her ears, showing him the rather prominent points. “Like you.”
He reached for the tips of his own ears, stroking the long lengths thoughtfully. “Ah, but trolls are far from those bloodlines. The elves made it so.”
“I have heard the stories that you were made from mud and scales.”
“We were made from all that were animals. The elves created us. They crafted slaves and gave us thoughts in the hopes that we would be more biddable if we could worship them.” If shewasn’t going to sit, then he would. He took a seat on the couch, remembering all the other times he’d been here with his family. Loud and boisterous memories that felt so muted now. “The trolls are far from that these days, though. Our king pushes us ever more toward our elven bloodline, rather than the animals we were made from. At least, he did in the years I was there.”
“How long has it been?”
He glanced over at her, seeing those wide eyes staring at him with what he hoped wasn’t fear. “Ten years. Maybe more than that. I lost track of time in the darkness. But if Embla is gone, it was at least ten years.”
At her inhalation, he knew she understood how hard his life had been. He didn’t want her to pity him, but some part of him wanted Astrid to own what her people had done as well. It wasn’t her fault. And yet, something inside him still wanted to punish her for what had been done.
She licked her lips, turning those wide eyes toward all the bones that hung on the wall and the jars of questionable things. “A blood witch, you said?”
“They use their magic to identify power within people. It is a ritual many of us partake in throughout our lives.” He held up his hand, showing her a small scar that traced along the meat of his thumb. “This is the mark I earned when I was a boy. We meet with a blood witch to test our powers and our magic.”
“You have magic?” she asked, her voice suddenly surprised.
“I am elven, am I not?”
He watched as she turned scarlet. Bjorn had thought it was rather obvious, given his ears. All those with elven bloodlines had magic. Just like she did.
“I have felt your magic,” he said as he leaned against the couch more comfortably. “But I do not know how to describe what you can do.”
“I am sensitive to emotions.” Astrid moved closer to the bones on the walls, her gaze focused on the skull of a snake. “I have always been able to use those emotions to my advantage. It’s not that I can make someone feel anything. All I can do is amplify or pull certain emotions to the front. It’s not much, but it is something.”
“Useful in your line of work, I suppose.”
She turned her focus to him. “What do you know about my line of work?”
“Only what I saw in the dungeons. I would hang from the ceiling while your people worked in the shadows. I saw how the priestesses controlled the nobility like puppeteers. It was as impressive as it was terrifying to see that those in power were so dangerously controlled by another group.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees while staring at her. “Your people have the real power.”
She snorted. “If only that were the truth. Perhaps I would not have been sold into the labyrinth to pay off a debt.”
But then she... hesitated.
And it made him wonder. “He sold you into the labyrinth? You made it sound like it was your own doing as well.” He wanted to know the truth. He had to know the truth. If that man had really sold her off, then he wanted to kill him someday. Bjorn would hunt him down and make the lord suffer for not taking care of what he had been gifted.
