Bloodthorn

by Tamara Grantham

  Yet, why couldn’t I make myself enter the clearing? And why had my heart started fluttering uncontrollably?

  He was still seductively handsome, and the little bit of weight he’d lost only served to make his muscled frame look more chiseled. The sun reflected off his tanned skin. He’d pulled his blond hair into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck.

  I realized I wasn’t breathing, so I let out a long exhale. Here went nothing.

  “Good luck with that whole don’t-have-feelings-for-him-anymore thing,” I muttered under my breath before stepping into the clearing.

  Kull’s eyes met mine as I entered the clearing, and whatever beauty I’d seen in the sky had nothing on him. My mouth literally gaped open, and I had to make a conscious effort to clamp my jaw shut and force myself to keep walking. Kull peered at me as I neared, his eyes so blue they could’ve been chipped from a glacier. He stood straight as I approached, then propped the ax against the woodpile.

  “Hello, Olive,” he said quietly.

  Heart pounding. Mouth not working. Stomach twisting in knots.

  “Hello, Kull,” I finally managed.

  He cocked his head. “Is everything all right? Are you recovered? Eugrid told me your injuries were quite extensive.”

  My injuries. Yes! That was why I was having such trouble collecting my thoughts. Silly me, thinking I still had a thing for him.

  “I’m fine now, thanks to your sister. May I speak with you?”

  He stepped closer to me, close enough that I caught the scent of sandalwood and the soap still lingering in his damp hair—smells that only served to replay old memories of being close to him, kissing him, and the feel of his chest beneath my hands.

  When our gazes met, it was almost as if he saw exactly what I was thinking, and in my mind, my lips had found his. His kiss was soft and deep and sparked with passion.

  He cleared his throat, and I looked away quickly, my cheeks burning hot. He’d always had something to say about my blushing in the past, but now, he said nothing. After grabbing an armful of wood, he led me into the cabin instead.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  We entered the cottage. It was a comfortable space with couches covered in soft leather and worn, wooden rocking chairs. Each piece seemed as if memories were embedded in its surface—as well as in the walls and floors around them. The ceiling beams and staircase were made of a rich mahogany wood. Almost every table was filled with vases of flowers. Paintings of people and pastoral scenes covered the walls. On the kitchen counter, an assortment of vegetables and herbs were laid out. In the large stone fireplace, a bed of coals flickered, and a grate sat over the coals where long strips of meat were sizzling.

  An old woman sat near the fire with hands outstretched.

  “Grandamere,” Kull said, “I would like you to meet Olive.”

  The woman cocked her head, but her eyes didn’t seem to focus on me.

  “She’s almost blind,” Kull whispered to me.

  “Blind, yes,” she said, “deaf, no. And my sense of taste is quite keen, also, which is why you should take care of the broth as soon as possible.”

  “You’re cooking something?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Kull said as he placed the armful of wood near the fire, then grabbed a white shirt off a couch and pulled it over his head.

  Part of me lamented his decision to wear a shirt.

  “We’re making dyresteg,” he said. “It’s an old traditional dish that I’ve cooked with Grandamere many times. I still have yet to get it right.”

  “He’s improving,” she said. “Last year’s was nearly there. Still need to work on getting the bitter out of the roux.”

  “It will be perfect this year,” Kull said.

  “We will see. Still time yet to improve it. Perhaps the girl can help you this time, yes?”

  He turned to me. “Would you like to help?”

  “Me?” I glanced around the room. Didn’t we need to go and save the world first? “How long will it take?”

  “Not long. You may help me prepare the vegetables if you wish.”

  “All right, I guess. I’m not much of a cook.” Why did I say that?

  I followed Kull to the island counter where he gave me a butcher knife and instructed me in cutting the vegetables.

  “Make sure to cut them evenly and the same size.”

  As he chopped a potato-like root plant, I did my best to keep my eyes on the food and not on the way the muscles moved in his arms as he cut the vegetable.

  “Would you like to try?”

  “Sure.”

  He held the knife out, and I reached for it. My fingertips brushed his as I took the handle, and my heart rate shot up. Heat rose into my cheeks and made my chest tighten. I wanted to look away from him but found that some compulsion had come over me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Finally, he slowly moved his hand away from mine, and I focused on the vegetables.

  I began cutting, and after I’d established a rhythm of slicing them lengthwise and keeping them the same size, he placed his hand on my back. Heat rolled through me at his touch.

  He leaned close. “Perfectly done,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I managed.

  He walked away to attend to his grandmother by the hearth. I stayed focused on the vegetables. Heaven help me, his presence was doing all sorts of crazy things to my head, and I shamefully enjoyed every second of it.

  “Heat it up, but do not let it boil,” Kull’s grandmother said. “You must get the temperature right, or else it will become bitter. Now, we must prepare the meat. Where are the skewers?”

  It all seemed surreal, as if I’d stepped into another time. Worry nagged at the back of my mind—we needed to find the bloodthorn and stop him—yet that world seemed so far away, like a dream I barely remembered.

  Kull took Grandamere’s hands in his and guided them to a small shelf beside the hearth. That icy shell covering my heart melted a tiny bit as I watched him help his grandmother. They worked well together, as if they did this sort of thing every day. He guided her hands when she asked and prepared the food as she instructed.

  After I’d finished with the vegetables, I stayed where I was, watching as the two worked side-by-side.

  “Now add the vegetables,” she said, waving toward me.

  I brought the platter to the hearth where they’d placed a cast-iron pot atop the coals. I added the vegetables, careful not to let the broth splash me.

  “Good,” Grandamere said. “Now let it simmer down, then add the roux.”

  We waited, Kull stirring the broth now and again as the two carried on a conversation. I’d nearly forgotten why I’d come here in the first place. At some point, I’d have to get around to broaching the subject of Kull reclaiming the crown and tracking down the bloodthorn, but not now. Now it seemed time stood still, that there was only him and Grandamere and me, and nothing but good food to worry over.

  After the broth was ready, Kull added a small pot of dark roux to the mix.

  “Now whisk in the cheese until it dissolves,” said Grandamere. “Is the roast in the warming oven?”

  “Yes. Shall I fetch it?”

  “Not yet. Slice it first. Then serve it with the sauce and skewers.”

  He stood and moved toward the counter.

  Grandamere raised a finger. “Thin—”

  “Thin slices. Yes, I remember.”

  She smiled and leaned her head against the seat cushion. “It’s a good day for dyresteg—the leaves coming down with winter still far enough away. We’ll have to serve it with my cider, of course.”

  “Has it always been made the way you’re preparing it?”

  “Yes. I made it with my grandstefar, and he with his grandsteforældre. Kull is my only kin who still comes down off the mountain to make it with me. Every year, he comes when the weather is right.”

  “That’s because I have yet to perfect it,” he said from the kitchen.

  “You will get it soon enough.
And then you shall teach your own children.”

  “We’ll see. Perhaps I’ll make it poorly on purpose so I may come visit you more often.”

  “You visit often enough already. There’s certainly no need to spoil our dinner on account of me.”

  “I was jesting, Grandamere. I would only spoil our meal if someone we disliked were visiting.”

  “Yes,” she answered, “like Ket.”

  “Ket is not so bad,” Kull said.

  “She thought her recipe was better than mine. Her sauce tasted of salted water, and the meat was so chewy it was inedible. She ruined the meal completely.”

  “It was pretty bad,” Kull agreed.

  I held back a smile. I’d always thought Ket excelled at everything imaginable, but perhaps there was one thing I could beat her at.

  “Olive,” Kull said, “would you like to help me set the table?”

  I stood and crossed the room. He handed me several wooden dishes, and I helped him arrange them on the table. Kull brought the sauce and meat to the table and placed them in the center. After placing forks and knives beside the plates, he handed me three tankards that I placed by the plates, and then I situated a warm jug of cider beside the meat tray, completing the setting.

  When the table was ready, Grandamere grabbed her cane and hobbled to the table, where Kull helped her to a chair, pulled it out for her, and she sat. He arranged the thin slices of meat, which had been stuffed with butter and herbs, on each plate, then added the sauce, the meat skewers, and the vegetables on the side. He added sprigs of herbs to each plate as a finish, and I was certain I’d seen this same sort of plating on one of those five-star-restaurant reality shows.

  Grandamere offered a prayer of thanks for the food, and after that, we began eating. The tender meat almost fell apart on my fork, and as I took a bite, the butter and herbs gave the meat a fresh flavor that was complimented by the savory richness of the sauce.

  The food filled some void I didn’t know I had, as if my life before that moment had been waiting for this point in time. Something I’d always wanted but never known. Something I’d always needed and now I’d found. But was it only the food that made me feel that way? Or was there more to it? I slowly savored each bite, finding that the meal only got better. Sipping the cider, with its fragrant blend of spices, only served to enhance the flavor of the meat and herbs.

  “What do you think?” Kull asked Grandamere hesitantly.

  She nodded, chewing a bite before answering. “Not good.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Not good?”

  “Aye. You will have to come back next year, and several years after that, if you wish to improve.”

  “I told you, Grandamere. I will come visit you no matter what.”

  “You will?”

  “Yes. I always do, don’t I?”

  “Hmm…” She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “In that case, the truth is, I have not tasted dyresteg this good since your grandstefar made it. You have done well.” She reached over and patted his hand.

  “I couldn’t have done it without Olive’s help.” He winked. “It seems we work well together.”

  Grandamere smiled. “Very true. Find someone to make it with you—someone who compliments you and works well with you—and you have finally learned the secret of making the dish as it was meant to be.”

  “Perhaps I’ve found her.”

  “No,” I answered quickly, trying not to overanalyze his comment. “All I did was chop the vegetables.”

  “And set the table,” he added.

  “Yes, and set the table,” I said. “It took quite a bit of skill to carry dishes across the room. And Grandamere made the cider. I think she deserves some praise as well.”

  Grandamere smiled. “You like the cider?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad you do. Come back some time, and I will show you how to make it.”

  “I would like that.”

  After finishing our food, I helped Kull clean the table and wash the dishes. When we were done, Grandamere shuffled toward us, holding a small leather bag with drawstring ties at the top. She gave it to Kull.

  “Cilla moon seeds,” she said, “for the offering. I washed them myself. You must take them this year.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Me? You’re not coming?”

  “Nay. I can hardly walk, and even if I could, I couldn’t see to get down the path.”

  “What if I carried you?”

  She laughed. “Carried me? That would be a sight, wouldn’t it? An old lady like me carried around like a rag doll. No, that won’t be necessary.”

  “But you or Grandstefar have always offered the prayer. I’m not sure it’s my place to say it.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be? You’ve watched us all your life. You have been preparing all this time, whether you realized it or not. I do not doubt that you will succeed. You should not doubt yourself, either.”

  He took the bag and held it with reverence, then turned to me. “Would you like to accompany me, Olive?”

  “Sure, I suppose. Where are we going?”

  “To the river. We perform a ritual each fall, asking Odin to protect us from a harsh winter. The cilla moon tree is sacred to my people. Its seeds will only open when they have been washed in fae-water, so every year we collect a few pieces of fruit from the tree, clean and wash the seeds, then return the seeds to the river, where they will hopefully take root.”

  “Are you sure you want me to come? What if I bring bad karma or something?”

  “You have nothing to worry about. Besides, I need you with me. I wouldn’t feel right doing the ritual by myself.”

  Grandamere took a seat in her chair, her crooked, arthritic fingers still holding to her cane as she closed her eyes. “Go before the moon rises,” she said quietly, “for the seeds must be on the water to catch the moonbeams once it does.”

  Kull motioned for me to follow him, and we escaped into the darkening evening. The crisp air tasted of autumn. Long, slanting rays of sunlight lit the forest path as we made our way down the trail, our boots crunching stray sticks. Kull walked with a lightness in his step, and I realized I was smiling. Every time I visited the Wult’s keep, I was reminded of how much I loved it here—the fresh air, the smell of dark soil, growth, and life. This was truly a place one could call home and never long for anywhere else.

  We followed the path around a bend, and a tree taller than all the others came into view. As we approached, I noticed tiny, diamond-shaped fruits sparkling in the leaves, but what was most unusual was its trunk and branches—all crystal clear as if created from glass. The wind tousled the long branches, and they made a tinkling sound as they brushed together.

  A raised, wooden deck wrapped around the tree. We climbed the steps to the top and walked onto the deck. I couldn’t help but run my hands over the glassy tree trunk, and I found it warm to the touch. Streams of magic sparkled inside the tree, carried up through the trunk and into the leaves from the roots that absorbed the energy.

  Kull led me to the railing overlooking the river. Below us, the white-capped, glacial water shimmered in the evening light. He opened the pouch and emptied its contents onto his open palm. His hand seemed to dwarf the small seeds as he turned to me.

  “Here,” he said, handing me a few seeds that were warm and light in my hand. “After I say the words, you must toss them into the river.”

  Although the ritual was something I’d never experienced before, I felt a connection to it—a quiet harmony I was only now discovering.

  Kull inhaled a deep breath. “Here goes.”

  After a pause, with the rushing sounds of the river flowing below us, he began the chant.

  “Hail All-Father,

  Wise warrior,

  One-eyed wanderer;

  Bless this water that it might give life,

  Bless these seeds that they might spring forth,

  May winter’s end come quickly,

  So that we may we f
ind our way to Valhalla,

  To the hearth that you have prepared as a resting place for us,

  To tell us your wisdom stories,

  To run the skies with you,

  Let us understand sacrifice,

  Think long,

  Love well,

  And journey far.

  Odin, witness this.”

  Together, we tossed the seeds over the edge and watched as they soared downward, gaining speed until they hit the water with dozens of tiny splashes.

  Kull peered out toward the mountains. The last rays of sunlight fell over him, and a gentle breeze tousled his hair. I tried to remember every detail—his forehead creased in concentration, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips. I etched every feature into my memory, knowing that soon all I would see was this—my memories of him—and nothing more.

  I turned to stare at the river. The seeds had disappeared, hopefully swept away by the water current to someplace fertile, a new future and a new beginning.

  “It’s finished,” he said.

  “You did well.”

  He stepped closer to me and gently touched my hand. I almost pulled away, but he trailed his finger toward the gauze wrapping my wrist.

  “He did this to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “He bound my wrists with enchanted chains to keep me from using my magic. The metal burned like ice, but what was worse was the loss of my powers. It wasn’t a pleasant experience, to say the least. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  His gaze wandered from my wrists to my cheeks. Gently, he touched the scars that ran from cheekbone to chin.

  “And this?”

  “He hit me.”

  Kull’s eyes blazed with fury for half a second. “My sister told me you weren’t clothed under the cloak. Did he injure you in other ways?”

  “No. He only wanted me to suffer, to make me cold and hungry, to break my spirit. But for some reason—perhaps because there was some humanity left in the man whose body he had taken—he seemed to hold back.”

  Kull only nodded. “I was frightened for you.”