Page 97 of A Light So Blinding
She watched Maia shrug as Astrid finally got her head through the neck of the dress. “That’s the rumor I heard. You could ask her.”
The troll woman turned to her again. “Are you?”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“A person who speaks to the fylgja. Someone who can see spirit guides and then bring out the creatures inside.” The troll woman’s brow raised. “Rumors spread quickly here. You’ll find that soon enough.”
“Oh. I suppose I can. That’s what the blood witches said in the grotto.” She wasn’t going to tell them that she’d done just that with Bjorn. That magic hadn’t been entirely hers. It seemed like Bjorn needed to be there for it to happen.
Astrid tried to turn the conversation to the dress, but the troll woman plowed right over her. “Why doesn’t she wear the piercings then? If she’s one of them, she should be pierced.”
“She has the wife piercings,” Maia replied.
“That’s not what I’m talking about. She’s earned the piercings of a priestess. She should wear them with pride.” Tsking, she plucked at Astrid’s dress, twitching it tighter around the waist and already pinning it. Somehow the woman had needles ready to go. “You’ve earned them, girl. Why not get them?”
But Astrid didn’t even know what piercings the woman was talking about. She tried to look at Maia, but the other woman wasn’t looking her in the eye. What piercings were they talking about? And why did she feel like, once again, she was failing Bjorn?
Thirty-Seven
Bjorn
Bjorn was surprised at how much he enjoyed his time with Ragnar and Gunnar. In the labyrinth, any time spent around the other men was usually a sign that he was about to fight them. But now he could be with others without having to worry about what he’d be ordered to do. There was only the joy at being with them and an ease that he was shocked he could feel.
They took him all over the kingdom, showing him all the old places they once had terrorized as children. He laughed with them, remembering all the foolish things they had done in those days. He was more than a little pleased they even remembered those times.
Ragnar had pointed to a tree that had looked much smaller than it had when they were children. “Remember when Bjorn got stuck up there? His father had been so angry he’d threatened to cut the tree down if Bjorn didn’t climb down on his own.”
“I’d been so scared he actually would that I climbed down. Who knew it would be that easy?” Bjorn said with a chuckle. “I think the whole tree shook as I half fell down it.”
Then they’d found a hidden cave system that only children could get through. But Gunnar crouched, peered into the darkness, and then shook his head. “Bjorn used to dare me to get into that crawl space. I got stuck so far in they had to get another child to come get me. You knew I wouldn’t fit, and you left me in there, anyway.”
“I was the child who went in to get you,” Bjorn had grunted, before shoving Gunnar toward it. “Let’s see if your fat head still fits.”
The memories were good. Although some of their antics had been perhaps a little dangerous for children, they were still memories with his friends. Moments of fun in a childhood that had been filled with darker times at home, and a family that had split apart when he had just wanted them to stay together.
But his friendships had always kept him together. These two had always made him feel like he was still wanted and believed, no matter what else happened.
Now, they were heading back up the rise toward his home, and he didn’t feel the shadows that always seemed to dog his steps. Instead, now there was a bright future ahead of him.
Rose and Maia were already coming out of his home, their laughter bubbling up and popping above his head. This could be a good thing. He could belong here, after all his time spent believing that no one would ever want him to come back.
Ragnar overtook him, heading up the path at an impressive speed toward his troll wife. And Bjorn would have followed his oldest friend if Gunnar hadn’t put a hand on his shoulder and held him still.
“You know the king isn’t going to change his mind,” Gunnar said under his breath. “You will have to fight again.”
“I am done with fighting, Gunnar,” Bjorn replied, his eyes on the house that hid a bright light that guided him. “I think I would like to rest for a while.”
“Egil won’t allow that.”
“Then I will enjoy every moment I have not fighting, so that I can walk into battle with her beauty in my heart.” He headed away from his brother, not even looking at Rose, who flinched away from him as he headed into the house.
There wasn’t any particular reason he wanted to see Astrid. He just did. He liked to look at her, to watch her as she moved in that graceful way that made it seem like she was gliding through the air.
And then he saw that they really had made the house a home. The dust was all gone, the grime of years disappearing into a house that looked comfortable. They’d somehow found old quilts that were draped over every piece of furniture. Suddenly the massive hearth in the back didn’t look like somewhere his father would toss scraps of meat and threaten to toss Bjorn as well. It looked like a warm space to snuggle in front of with his troll wife, to hold her against his heart on the cold nights that would soon greet them.
The worn sofas in front of it were no longer threadbare. Instead it looked like someone had taken a needle and thread to them. Patchworks dotted them from what he assumed were other pieces of quilts. The kitchen smelled like baking bread, and not a single dust mote floated in the air. It was a new home.
A place to start over.
