Chapter 4
Four
Bjorn
Bjorn traveled back to his cell in a daze. The blood loss from his wrists was likely the cause of it, and the exhaustion of his arms being stretched over his head for hours.
He thought he might have passed out a few times.
It was hard to tell, really. Part of him thought that he had, because he blinked and he swore all the people in the room had changed positions.
But it was hard to keep track of the humans, anyway.
They all looked the same to him. All primped, dusted, and painted creatures that moved in the same eerie way.
All he had to do was make it back to his cell, and then he could lie on his back and relax for a little while.
He needed to rest. If he’d had water, then he would have rinsed off his hands and arms as well, but there was no water here.
They hadn’t provided him with anything to heal the cuts that he had caused himself.
That was a bad sign.
The jingle of the keys at the head guard’s waist kept him focused.
At one point in his time here, he had been determined to steal those keys.
They made sure there were ten guards with him at all times, each of them carrying swords that were at the ready and pointed at his throat.
But some part of him still thought he could fight them off.
It wouldn’t take much to twist, surprising most of them, before sacrificing the cords of tendons at the back of his neck.
If he was fast enough, the humans wouldn’t know what had hit them.
He’d always saved that plan for the worst-case scenario, though. Perhaps the other trolls would still manage to save him, because fighting off ten men with swords at the ready was likely suicide.
For all that he had suffered, Bjorn had never gone to that place in his mind. Not yet, at least.
The cells were small. Too small, some might even claim.
He could walk from one side to the other in four strides, and such little space was torture for a troll.
His people were used to wide open lands, wild and untamed forests, not a small little hole in the ground with no consistent food or water.
But this was where his life had been for over ten years now.
Bjorn was ashamed to admit he’d gotten used to it. The tight spaces were reassuring these days. They meant he wasn’t in the labyrinth, with all its winding corridors and attackers in every open area. At least in his cell he knew he wasn’t going to be hunted.
The door unlocked and swung open with the wrenching grind of metal on metal. The guard turned to him and gestured to the room. “Get in.”
As if he was going to argue. He slipped into the room while somehow managing not to cut himself on the countless swords pointed at him, and then stood there quietly as they closed the door.
There were few trolls left in this place. Most of them had escaped with Ragnar and his people, but those of them who were still here had been locked up in the same hall.
The troll to his right had been quiet ever since they’d been moved to these cells. But the one on his left liked to talk, even if it was quietly through the walls.
“You made it back, Bull.” Today, the troll’s voice was raspy. Perhaps they had taken him for some kind of experiment. The king liked to toy with their kind whenever he could, so it wouldn’t surprise Bjorn.
“Hello, Rabbit.” They used the names that the humans had given them. It was just... easier that way. At least then they didn’t forget where they were. Who they were. Or why they were here.
Rabbit was remarkably fast in the labyrinth, which was what had earned him the name.
Quick footed and somehow perfect at remembering all the twists and turns, he was the most difficult one to catch.
He could run for hours on end, too. It had become a bit of a challenge to the humans to see if they could confuse Rabbit as they moved the walls and changed the patterns of halls in the labyrinth. So far, they hadn’t succeeded.
Bjorn sat down on the edge of his cot. There wasn’t much to it.
Just a rickety frame and a moth-eaten blanket that he’d thankfully remembered to take with him from cell to cell.
But it was home, as much as he could have one.
A small dented cup sat in the corner where the walls met.
At least there the condensation slid down the wall and he could gather some water.
Two doors, just like always. One leading out into the hall beyond with a tiny window to look out. The other, windowless, leading into the labyrinth.
“What did they do to you this time?” Rabbit asked, his raspy voice sliding through a crack in the wall beside Bjorn’s cot.
“Ah. They wanted a show for the nobles. They hung me up by my arms and let them do whatever they wished.”
“They grab your cock?”
He flinched. “No, they did not. Too many humans around for that.”
“Lucky you.”
There was a long pause of silence, and again Bjorn wondered what Rabbit had been doing today. He supposed it wasn’t worth it to ask. Whatever the male had done, it was traumatic enough to wreck his voice and he didn’t likely wish to talk about it again.
Bjorn didn’t like talking, anyway. He’d learned a long time ago that it was foolish to want to hold on to that part of himself.
The part that used to talk all the time, to everyone who would listen.
He remembered holding conversations for hours on end.
He’d talked through feasts that had gone on until the sun came up the next morning, and he had never slowed. Not once.
Shaking his head, he leaned back on the cot, lying down to rest. “Tell me a story, Rabbit.”
This was what they did every evening. The humans did whatever torture they could think of, and then he and Rabbit came back together to relive the lives they once had.
Before Ragnar had broken into the labyrinth, Bjorn never would have entertained this.
Remembering home in those ten years had been a weakness he could not show.
Home was a soft place, a safe place, a hidden spot in his mind that he only visited at his worst.
But now, he wanted to remember. Now he wanted to be assured that he was going to be all right when he finally made it back to Trollveggen.
“Have I ever told you the one about how my sister met her husband?” Rabbit asked.
He had. Countless times.
Bjorn loved the story all the same.
He grunted for the other man to continue, and let himself spiral into a world he barely remembered.
A story with a young troll woman, her coloring a lovely deep violet so dark her skin was almost black.
And how she had found solace in the arms of a bright turquoise troll, much smaller than her.
A lean man who had been kind and soft when she’d needed that.
Rabbit’s sister had been a warrior in a warband that had traveled beyond Trollveggen.
He’d never shared where she had gone, or where she’d met her husband, but it must’ve been the same place Bjorn was from.
He remembered leaving the mountain for months on end in the summer to see his mother and her people.
His father had been a cruel man. Dag the Destroyer had always been a fighter, and nothing could have prevented him from battle. But his mother had been softer, more afraid. So they had only visited her on the rare occasion, though it had been enough for Bjorn to love that gentle side of her.
The story wove around him like a spell. He could almost see the lands that Rabbit spoke of.
The emerald green hills on the other side of Trollveggen.
The wild that was so untouched by humans, it was like the only paths to be found were the ones that had been carved by animals.
It was hope that allowed him to dream of it again.
Hope that someday, he would return to those emerald meadows without fear of what he might bring with him.
The story ended as it always did, startling Bjorn out of his own memories and back into a story of a couple that had lasted forever.
Rabbit always ended with a flourish. “And that bastard loved her until the day I left. I assume he’ll love her until the day he dies.”
“Why call him a bastard?” Bjorn asked, the same as always. But the repetition made both of them feel better.
“Because he loved her so much it was hard to watch,” Rabbit muttered. “She’s my baby sister, and seeing him with her like that... well, it reminded me that she wasn’t a baby anymore.”
Bjorn hummed in agreement.
“You’re talking a lot more than you ever have, by the way. Does that have something to do with those other trolls we met?”
They hadn’t talked about that, but hadn’t really had the chance either. Trolls were meant to be silent here. The less they talked, the better. Bjorn and Rabbit had gotten into the habit of it, but only through the crack in the wall.
A commotion in the hallway caught his attention.
Bjorn had no idea how long it had taken Rabbit to tell the story this time.
It seemed every time he told it, there were more and more embellishments that turned it into a fantastical tale he was certain was mostly untrue.
But a commotion at this time of night? It was unheard of.
Then he could hear words as the guards walked through the halls once more, too late for it to be anything good.
“Prisoners! Behold your newest prize! The fight tomorrow evening will be the greatest you sorry lot have ever seen.” Then a loud clang as a sword met the openings of a window on the door. “Don’t try to touch her, you animal! Tomorrow, if you win, you get to touch her.”
Her?
“Oh no,” Rabbit muttered, and Bjorn heard the sound of him getting up and heading to his door.
Often the warriors were given the opportunity of a woman for their prize for winning in the labyrinth, but no one had ever gotten this much fanfare. Whoever the poor soul was, they were going to be torn apart by whatever man was “lucky” enough to win her.
Bjorn got up as well, curious to see who they had brought in. Usually the women were...
Dark thoughts battered against his mind.
So many necks that he’d snapped. So many women he’d held the hands of as they drifted away into that realm where no one else could follow until it was their time.
Death dogged his footsteps. Death they begged for, and only he could give it to them without punishment.
Shaking his head to clear those old, guilty thoughts, he headed to the window with the others.
The person in the cell across from him was a man he tried to forget.
The human had been caught doing all manner of terrible things, and as such, his punishment was to be in here.
Bjorn had heard him bragging about murdering a man who had been living on the streets and made it a point to target him in the labyrinth.
Unfortunately, the human was an unreasonably good fighter and a large man who could hold his own against even trolls.
That man peered out at him through the window in his own door, and flashed a grin of missing teeth.
His lank, greasy hair had once likely been a shade of brown.
But now the oils had made it so stiff and dark it was hard to tell what the color even was.
His face was getting paler every week he was in here, revealing a fish belly shade that wasn’t the same as his tanned skin when he’d first come in through the door.
“Who do you think it is?” he asked Bjorn, his voice practically vibrating with excitement.
Bjorn didn’t talk to the humans. None of them had earned that right.
He merely turned his head to look at the guards who were walking toward them.
They made it difficult to see who was hidden behind them, but he knew the type of woman.
She’d be terrified. Curled in on herself, her arms around her waist, trying to make herself seem smaller because all of this should frighten her.
The men in here weren’t anyone they wanted to be gifted to.
The guards had watchful expressions on their faces as they parted to reveal...
Her.
The woman he’d seen when he’d been tied up.
The one kind enough to give him a drink.
The one who looked nearly identical to the princess, but who had a softer heart.
He had been able to tell just by looking at her.
She’d hated that he was in pain and all his rage had disappeared at the first cool touch of her magic.
Shock made him grip the bars of his door, staring at her as she walked by. She wasn’t afraid. This woman held her head high as countless men jeered at her, reaching through the bars to touch a lock of her hair, doing everything they could to get her to even look at them.
Her dress of pearls had a single section on the right hip that was ruined.
Some might not even notice it, but he did.
The pearls rose in eight strands, each of them an arc that accentuated the curve of her hip, and one of those strands had broken.
He wasn’t sure why that made him so angry, but it did.
She deserved to be adorned like she had been. And now, someone had ruined that.
As the guards walked her by, he noticed she turned her head just slightly to look at him.
Recognition flared in her eyes. She knew him, or at least, she knew of the monster she had seen hanging by his wrists.
Like a dolt, he almost lifted his arms over his head as though that would make it easier for her to know that he was the same troll she had seen.
The priestess swallowed hard, and Bjorn knew he was the only one she allowed to see how frightened she was. For a few moments, the mask dropped. She wasn’t the proud woman who feared nothing. For a few moments, she was a prisoner thrown into a dungeon with starving men.
Bjorn wanted to rage. He would rip the door from its hinges if that would get him to her faster. She didn’t deserve this. No woman did.
What the guard was shouting finally broke through his thoughts. “The king has decided you lot deserve a gift! Fight hard tomorrow, and you’ll get yourself a priestess. For keeps!”
For keeps?
What the fuck did he mean for keeps?
A million questions burned in his mind as she was moved forward.
The priestess glided across the floor, her dress only barely skimming the dirt and blood that caked the room.
He watched her go, terror burning in his chest until his gaze locked with the man across from him.
And then it was rage that ignited inside him.
The human grinned, his remaining teeth bared with glee. “I’m going to get that one, Bull. I’ll keep you up all night listening to her screams.”
Bjorn knew damn well that wasn’t going to happen. She was his, he decided. His to protect.
His to win.