I’d left it burning for Fenris. He’d spent all morning with Thrym, as usual, and we’d barely spoken in the afternoon during our lessons. Thrym had hired a tutor to teach us both how to read and write the strange Midgardian language. I’d been so excited to finally learn the secrets of those little black scratches on white paper, but the actual process of literacy was maddeningly slow. Trying to see the connection between a cluck or a hiss and a series of dashes and lines felt like smacking my head against a granite boulder, and at times I felt our tutor was almost ready to break my wax tablet over my head. I’d considered going that route myself, just to spare any further humiliation.
And Fenris was picking things up much faster than me. Including reading the stars-damned language. It helped, I guessed, that Fenris had learned how to read our language as a child. The concept of assigning noises to black lines on parchment or scratches in wax was familiar to him in a way it wasn’t to me. Or perhaps that was just my excuse; most things seemed to come easily to Fenris, from learning the language to memorizing the infuriatingly complicated names of our servants, neighbors, and business partners.
I pressed my fingers to the smooth plaster of our wall, then walked until I felt the oil lamp’s alcove. Odd. The base of the lamp was still warm. Did that mean it had just burned itself out, or had my husband come into the bedroom, trimmed it, and left again?
Fenris had begged Thrym for another training session after dinner. I couldn’t bring myself to watch it. I’d only seen Thrym and Fenris sparring once, in the afternoon of our third day in the domus. Thrym had taken Fenris to the packed ground behind the kitchens, that enclosed, protected space between the house and the caves where Loki had lit his ever-burning fire. They’d spent a few minutes practicing stances and holds before Thrym had thrown himself at Fenris, knocking my husband flat on his back. Fenris’s skull had hit the ground with a dull knock that echoed off the walls. Thrym had helped Fenris to his feet, then knocked him down again.
I’d had to stuff my fist between my lips to silence my cries. All I could think of was Asgard and the brutal killing fields of Val-hall. Óðinn’s warriors had surrounded my husband that first morning and attacked him with swords. I’d seen it all but done nothing.
When Thrym knocked Fenris to the ground a third time, nothing in the Nine Realms could have stopped me. I ran forward and stood between the two men. Behind me, Fenris had pulled himself to his feet, his sides heaving as he’d gasped for breath.
“Sol?” Thrym had asked, his face wrinkled in genuine confusion.
Fenris’s hand had closed around my shoulder. “It’s okay,” he’d panted. “I want this. I’ve got to learn. I asked Thrym not to go easy on me.”
My vision swum as tears bit behind my eyelids. Thrym had stared at me as if I’d just started speaking in Demonic. Fenris had leaned against me, and I’d felt the heat rising from his lean, muscular body. He’d pressed a distracted kiss to my temple.
“Maybe you don’t want to watch,” Fenris had suggested.
I’d sunk my hands into my long skirts, squeezing the fabric as if I were choking the life out of some small, defenseless animal. As I’d retreated back into the cool shadows of the domus, wiping furiously at the tears which insisted on filling my eyes again and again, I’d thought of the Ironwood forest with a sort of hopeless desperation. How simple life had seemed in our cave, when Fenris lay naked in my arms. When I’d whispered my promise to protect him.
How could I protect him now?
I ran my hands over my face and sighed into the darkness of our room. One of the twins shifted against my spine; I dropped my hand to rub the curve of my belly. A sliver of light fell across my loose shift, giving it a silver stripe. I followed the light and found that our door stood slightly ajar, just enough to allow a shaft of moonlight to pierce the darkness. I pulled the door open and stared out at the atrium. Moonlight fell through the rectangular opening in the roof and shimmered across the still waters of the sunken impluvium. For a moment, before I could stop myself, the waters of the Lucky River filled my memory. They’d sparkled in the moonlight as well on the night I crept from my family’s cabin to warn my lover Fenris of the dangers of the Ironwood.
As if I’d summoned him with my recollections, a figure materialized in the deep shadows between our door and the open atrium. His soft voice rose and fell like waves lapping at the shore. I held my breath, trying to catch his words.
“Decius Treblanus Caerellius,” Fenris whispered, holding up a finger in the moonlight. “Marcus Novius Ursacius.“ A second finger joined the first. “Secundus Longinius...”
He hesitated. In the thin, silver light, I saw his face furrow as he bit his lip. “Secundus Longinius... Galterus.”
Fenris sighed, then ran his hand across his mouth as if wiping something off. Not for the first time, I wondered if he was still tasting Týr’s blood on his lips and tongue. I opened my mouth to speak, then hesitated. What in the Nine Realms was he doing out here, reciting strange names in the moonlight? It was almost as if he were trying to create a ward of protection around our neat little room.
Fenris held his three fingers out in front of him. “Decius Treblanus Caerellius.” He touched the first. “Marcus Novius Ursacius.” The second. “Secundus Longinius...”
He frowned, the rocked forward on his toes before I had a chance to move. When he caught sight of me, Fenris pulled back as if he’d been bitten.
“Sol!” he gasped. “What are you doing out here?”
I tried to think of an appropriate response, but the truth spilled out instead. “I miss you.”
His face crumpled. I fell into his arms, sinking my hands into the warm fabric of his toga, breathing in the sweet, wild scent of his hair.
“Why didn’t you come to bed?” I asked, trying to ignore the way my voice pinched.
He didn’t respond. My chest clenched. The twins squirmed inside me, perhaps protesting the way I’d pressed my body so tightly against their father’s.
“What are all those names?” I asked, suddenly unsure I wanted to hear the answer to my first question.
Fenris ran his hand through my hair, smoothing it down my back. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “Wine buyers. Thrym’s top wine buyers. I-I’m having trouble remembering their names.”
At his words, something buried deep within my heart broke in two.
All the fear and worry I’d felt since rescuing Fenris, all the times I’d seen bruises on his body from his training with Thrym and wanted to scream to the Nine Realms, every damned time Fenris wiped his lips or stared into the distance or refused to answer a question, every time he didn’t laugh, didn’t smile, didn’t even acknowledge my presence. All of it slipped loose and came out in great, choking sobs loud enough to wake the entire domus. I clung to Fenris’s shoulders, my body bent around my extended stomach, the twins kicking and writhing inside me as if they could sense my distress.
Somehow, Fenris pulled me back into our room, sat me on the bed, and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I slowly realized he was whispering my name, low and urgent, in almost the same way he’d been repeating the names of Thrym’s wine buyers. The thought only made me feel worse.
“Sol? Stars, Sol,” Fenris said. “Please, what is it?”
I gulped a deep breath, then another. Fenris pulled back, stood, and poured me a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. He pressed it into my hand.
“T-thank you,” I stammered.
He wrapped his hands around mine, cupping the water glass. Our eyes met. In the moonlight falling through our open door, his lupine gaze was almost luminescent. The strange thought occured to me that he had not entirely left behind the wolf.
“Sol?” he asked. This time, his voice trembled. “Are you... Are you having the babies, you think?”
I drained the glass of water, then wiped my eyes and cheeks. “No. I’m just...I’m just so damned sorry, Fenris!”
My voice cracked. I sucked in another long breath, trying to w
ill myself to stop crying.
“Sorry?” Fenris frowned.
“I’m sorry we’re not in the Ironwood right now,” I said. “And I’m sorry you feel like you need to fight Thrym all the time, or stay up all night trying to memorize a stupid list of names, or do all these other things you hate—”
Fenris laughed. My voice cut off as the sound I thought I’d never hear again filled the room.
“Oh, Sol,” he said. “I don’t hate this.”
“Really?” I sniffed.
His brow furrowed, but his lips still smiled. “Really. I thought I might, but I don’t. It’s fascinating, actually. I had no idea how hard it was to run a place like this.”
My heart burned inside my chest. I wanted to believe him, to trust those words. Still. “You said you hated Angrboða’s castle,” I said.
His tentative smile vanished like a candle flame extinguished by the wind. He sighed, then leaned forward to rest his head against mine. His fingers made slow circles against my back.
“This isn’t Angrboða’s castle.” He paused, as if seeking for the words. “Everything I learned in Thiassi’s castle was about war and conquest. How to win over allies, and then how to betray them to your advantage. Nothing about how to build or grow.” His smile softened. “Nothing about kitchens.”
I sniffed again, trying to swallow the stone rising in my throat. Fenris pulled away just enough to meet my eyes.
“Besides, how many times have you heard someone call me pathetic?” Fenris asked.
I blinked, trying to read his expression in the thin moonlight. “What?”
“Here,” Fenris said. “In this place. How many people have called me pathetic? A failure? A waste? An idiot?”
“Stop!” I cried. “No one calls you that! No one says any of that. They—they call us barbarians, I guess, but not pathetic.”
Fenris settled back on the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, I lay down next to him. His hand ran through my hair, slowly and gently.
“Exactly,” he said. “See? This place is nothing like Angrboða’s castle.”
We both fell silent. Outside our window, some small, hidden animal wailed at the waxing moon.
“Guess what I learned today?” Fenris asked.
I craned my head enough to see the ghost of a smile on his lips. “The names of Thrym’s top wine buyers?” I guessed.
Fenris’s chest rose against mine as he laughed so softly it was almost inaudible. “No. The grapes. How to tell which ones are almost ripe.”
“Fenris the farmer,” I responded.
This time, his laugh was louder. “Fenris the farmer, indeed. My mother would be furious.”
The little animal outside our window wailed again. It sounded like a bird, some tiny, nocturnal creature native to this Realm and no other. I shifted against Fenris’s chest, trying to find a way to put my vague disquiet into words.
“But, you look so unhappy,” I said. “All the time.”
Fenris sighed. His hand fell away from my hair, and I immediately regretted my words.
“I’m scared,” Fenris admitted quietly. “I lived with the wolf for so long, I think I forgot what it was like to feel afraid. For so many years, nothing could defeat me. Nothing could even threaten me. I mean, stars, I took on Nøkkyn’s entire castle.”
He fell silent. His chest rose softly against my body. His breath sounded like the waves of the Lucky River brushing the bank.
“Now,” Fenris continued, almost in a whisper, “when I hear footsteps in the corridor at night, I want to scream. What if it’s Óðinn? What could I do to protect the woman I love?”
His arms tightened around me as if the mere mention of Óðinn’s name had put me at risk.
“Thrym says we’re—” I began, but my voice faded.
“I know. We’re as safe as we can be, with me in this useless body.”
I ran my hand across the ridges of his abdomen, taut and hard after the hours of martial practice he’d put in with Thrym. “I don’t find this body so useless.”
Fenris snorted in what may have been either agreement or dismissal. “I do get a little less useless every day,” he said. “Did you know I hit Thrym in practice tonight?”
I pulled back enough to see the satisfaction on his face. “Really?”
“Really. With a wooden sword. Just on the arm, but still. It would have slowed him down, if we’d really been fighting.”
A swirling mess of emotions surged in my chest. I reached for Fenris and cupped his cheek. “I’m proud of you.”
He returned my smile. For a single, glowing moment, I felt like my husband had truly returned. Then his eyes clouded, and he ran his hand across his lips.
“Týr?” I guessed.
Fenris nodded. His smile had fled; now his expression was almost pained. “Stars. I miss him.”
My heart ached as if it were straining to escape my chest. “Me too,” I admitted.
“I thought...” Fenris began, then hesitated. “I guess I thought Týr would always be there. Even when Óðinn threatened to marry him off, Týr swore up and down the Nine Realms that nothing would stand between him and me. That he’d come to the Ironwood under the full moon for the rest of time. Whatever else my life would hold, I always thought Týr would be a part of it.”
I ran my fingers lightly across his chest, remember the first time I’d met Týr. His close-trimmed beard and full smile. I hadn’t known, the morning we’d met, that Týr and Fenris were lovers. But Týr must have realized, when I jumped naked from the river in the Ironwood, that he’d now be sharing Fenris with another.
He hadn’t hesitated. Týr had welcomed me with smiles and jokes about honey cakes. He’d given me his shirt, which had become my wedding dress. And then, in Val-hall, he’d tried to save us both from the trap his father had set on the dark island in Lake Amsvartnir.
“I wanted to go away with him,” I whispered, almost to myself. “I thought we’d be very happy together, on Álfheim.”
Fenris’s hand dropped from my hair to tighten around my shoulder. “As did I.”
My breath caught in my chest. I remembered the morning after Fenris had rescued me from King Nøkkyn’s fortress. When he’d brought me a snowdrop flower, then held me as the loss of my family tore through me like wildfire. And the words he’d offered that had given me some measure of comfort.
“Týr wanted you to live,” I said. “He would be glad you’re alive. He wouldn’t want you to suffer.”
Fenris closed his eyes, but not before I saw the glimmer of a tear caught in his lashes. He sighed deeply, and pulled me to his chest. Together, we sank to the bed, holding each other like frightened children.
But sleep did not come easily to me. And so I was still awake when Fenris raised his hand, counted off three fingers, and began his whispered litany again.
“Decius Treblanus Caerellius. Marcus Novius Ursacius.”
THE MONSTER FREED: CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
“Who’s our top client?” Thrym asked.
I opened my mouth to answer, and my mind went completely blank. The memory of Fenris whispering names to himself surfaced in my memory, but I couldn’t have repeated even one of those names to save all Nine Realms. And those had just been wine buyers, I thought. Thrym sold horses, too. I closed my mouth and turned to Fenris. He ran his hand across his mouth.
“For wine, horses, or olives?” Fenris asked.
“Right,” I groaned as I sank further into the couch. “I forgot all about the olives.”
Thrym chuckled as he leaned forward to pour himself another glass of wine. We were sharing our evening meal while the setting sun filled the room with rich, lazy light. Fenris and Thrym had just returned from a trip to inspect Thrym’s newest holding, an olive grove near the coast. I’d wanted to go with them, but the midwife outright forbade it.
“You’re not to have those babies by the side of the road like a slave,” she’d clucked, and that was that. Although my chest had still pinched at the sight
of Fenris riding away from the domus, his back straight, his lips twisted into the frown that seemed to have become a permanent part of his expression since we’d freed him from Lake Amsvartnir.
“Wine,” Thrym said, answering Fenris’s question.
Fenris wiped his lips again. “By volume, or by revenue?”
Thrym laughed outright at that, but Fenris’s expression didn’t change. This wasn’t a game to my husband.
“Volume,” Thrym said. “Unfortunately.”
“General Decius Treblanus Caerellius,” Fenris answered without hesitation. “Representing the Roman army.”
Thrym nodded, then turned his gaze to me. “And how do we spell that, my dear niece?”
“Stars!” I huffed.
My progress toward literacy was still embarrassingly slow, especially compared to Fenris’s. He told me it was because he already knew how to read and write, but sometimes I suspected my husband was only trying to preserve what little remained of my wounded pride.
Fenris took my hand and gave it a little squeeze. “You can do this,” he whispered.
“Exercitus,” I said, speaking the Latin word for army slowly in an attempt to stretch out its sounds. I closed my eyes, picturing the wax tablet where I tried to train my hand to form letters.
“E-x-a-” I stopped, frowned, and ran my fingers gently across my leg, forming invisible letters. “No. Wait. E-x-e-r-c-i-t-u-s.”
Thrym applauded.
“Stop it,” I growled. “You make me feel like a trained dog, performing for tricks.”
Thrym’s grin widened until it showed his teeth. “Now you sound like a proper barbarian.”
A sudden bolt of pain shot along my side before I could decide if Thrym had meant that as a compliment. I shifted on the couch, trying to relieve the pressure. The midwife had warned me that my body was preparing for the twins’ arrival; the cramps seemed to be coming more frequently now. And it was impossible for me to feel comfortable, no matter what position I sank my bloated body into. When I stared at my distended stomach now, I sometimes felt like I’d swallowed the moon.
The Complete Fenris Series Page 66
