Chapter 40
Forty
Elara
Clouds puffed under her, the cold gone as Elara floated. The terrifying frost of the draugar lifted, replaced by a familiar heat. She drifted along a vast, sun-drenched ocean of pure gold.
Except she wasn’t alone.
Fluttering her lashes, Elara blinked at the misty figure of a woman standing beside her. Garlands of white foam adorned her sun-kissed curls, her eyes the color of spring moss. Beside her stood a man with a dimpled smile blooming under messy, chestnut locks.
Her mother and brother looked back at her, and Elara’s breath caught. Edmund grinned at her, beaming. And her mother radiated warmth, she was not the shell of the person she had been the last time Elara saw her.
No, she smiled, her skin bright and her soul at peace.
“I’ve missed you, sweetheart,” her mother whispered, her voice swaying like a distant lullaby. “I had to see you one last time before you left. We had to see you.”
Her gaze slid to Edmund’s and he dipped his chin. He looked older, more hardened than the boy he had been when he passed.
“Hello, Sister.”
“What?” Elara whispered.
The lines around her mother’s face softened. Her infectious smile made Elara more at ease. Edmund leaned to the side, pecking their mother’s cheek, and winked at Elara, making her laugh.
“We wanted to see you. Just one more time. But you don’t belong here, sweetheart. Someday, you will be bound for this world. But now is not that time. You do not belong here. Someone waits for you. You needed time to heal.”
Njáll.
Was this real or a dream or a vision? Elara couldn’t decipher anything through the muddled haze.
“Wait! I’m sorry. It’s my fault you’re here. If I didn’t…”
“Hush, Elara,” her mother cooed. “No one can outrun fate. One way or another, I would have wound up here. Stop blaming yourself.”
“You always liked to play the martyr,” Edmund snorted, and Elara glared at him before snorting.
“I miss you. I feel like I betrayed you.”
The amusement glittering in Edmund’s eyes faded, his mouth turning down in a frown. His arms crossed over his chest.
“Elara. You could never betray me.” Strong fingers gripped her upper arm, and she stared into the resolute gaze of her brother. “That man will protect you until his dying breath. He’ll cherish you. There is nothing more I could want for my sister.”
“Edmund, I…”
“Enough,” he cut her off. “Do not worry anymore.”
Gold glittered in the distance, looking like dust clouding the horizon along the cloud tops. A sad smile graced her mother’s lips and she shared a knowing look with Edmund.
“It is time for you to go back now. We love you. Live your life.”
Lips ghosted over her forehead.
Elara grasped in the fog, her fingers wrapping around nothing. Streams of sunlight poured through the clouds overhead, blurring her mother’s visage until only the warmth of her love remained.
A strong, irresistible pull called to her—the single beat of a demanding heart calling her home.
Rough light pulsed against her eyelids. Elara groaned, struggling to blink her eyes open. A throb pulsed behind her temple and her limbs felt like they were packed under layers of snow.
The air smelled faintly of linen and rose water.
Her head rolled to the side, the silk case housing the downy feathers soft against her cheek.
A man sat on a stool beside the bed, his back to her.
Grey streaked his dark, rumpled hair, looking as though he had run his fingers through it one too many times.
An old scar glinted on the side of his jaw and Elara sucked in a breath.
“Papa?” she rasped, her voice hoarse from disuse.
The broken sound pierced the fragile quiet in the cabin, carrying with it so much grief, loss, and love.
Slate shattered on the ground, falling from her father’s shaking hands. He spun, his weathered face streaked with dried tears and days old stubble on his chin.
“Elara!”
The stool clattered to the floor as he stumbled to her bedside, his motions clumsy. His knees fell to the bed as he gently hugged her to his chest, kissing the top of her head like he had done before bed when she was little.
Wood smoke and clean wool clung to his skin. Elara inhaled the scent that was inherently him.
Unbidden tears leaked from her eyes, soaking the rough fabric of his tunic. A hand callused from years of farm work, cradled the back of her head, stroking over the length of her hair, down her spine and back again.
“You’re here? Is this real? I thought…” she whispered, sniffling as she burrowed further into his embrace.
“Shhh,” he soothed, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here, pumpkin.”
The name he’d called her since she was old enough to understand made her sob harder as she clung to her like a needy child.
A soft voice broke through the intimate quiet.
“You need to drink,” Brielle said, passing her a cup of steaming water.
Grunting, Elara shifted higher until the cold wood pressed against her back.
Her father righted his stool, lowering himself onto it, his elbows pressed into his thighs.
Slowly, Elara sipped the honeyed water, groaning when it coated the back of her throat and soothed the dry ache there.
The Dróttning looked pale, the usual pink hint to her cheeks missing. She smiled sweetly, tending to a kettle by the fire before sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap.
Elara drained the last of the liquid, placing the cup aside.
“How am I here?” Elara managed, her voice still weak.
The last thing she remembered was Njáll’s swollen eyes and tear-streaked face.
With that thought, her heart squeezed and she clutched her chest. Her eyes scanned their home for him, saddened and nervous when she didn’t see him anywhere.
She choked down the panicked flutter threatening to tear her apart.
Njáll hadn’t wanted to continue without her.
Something insidious whispered to her, telling her he did it anyway, once the dark consumed her.
A cold shiver made her hands tremble and she discarded the image.
As much as it might have pained him, Njáll wouldn’t have done that to her. Even if what she asked of him shattered him in a way she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to fix.
Brielle reached out, taking Elara’s hand in her soft one.
“We did not know for certain.” Her thumb stroked Elara’s brow.
“You waged a war none could see. The fight sapped all your strength as the panther cleaved through the undead. The Volva believes that because your light was threaded with Njáll’s that he tethered you here while your body healed. We weren’t certain you’d wake up.”
Images from that night flashed in her mind. The foul stench of the undead. The icy frost clinging to their gnarled hands. The panther incinerating them in golden flames.
Nails burrowed in the furs pooled around her hips.
Next, she saw glimpses of Njáll.
Of his strained body. Of his pained gaze. Of his aching heart shattering as she said goodbye.
Tears swelled in the corners of her eyes, her vision blurry as she glanced at the door, praying to Freyja that his broad figure sat in the doorway.
“How long?” Elara asked absently.
A gentle, sad expression creased the lines around Brielle’s eyes.
“You have been in and out of fever for nearly a moon cycle.”
Her lashes brushed over her cheeks as she tried to make sense of Brielle’s words, not comprehending how she could have been asleep for so many days. Brielle squeezed her hand before releasing it, staring into the fire.
“My son has not slept more than a few hours since you succumbed to your fever,” Brielle murmured, her eyes growing distant. “He sat where your father is now, holding your hand and whispering to you, refusing to believe you would not come back to him.”
The hollow ache near her heart grew with the knowledge. Elara traced the soft linen fabric of her shift, worried for Njáll. She had asked so much of him in those final moments. It had been unfair of her.
But now that she was alive, she couldn’t find it in her heart to be upset with her choice.
It meant they were together.
Alive.
“The Konungr had to physically carry him away from you this morning to bathe.” Brielle kissed the top of Elara’s head. “I’ll go fetch him now.”
After Brielle left, Elara’s eyes landed on her father.
A whittled chunk of wood sat in his worn fingers as he chiseled away at the piece—a hobby he picked up after her mother passed. His knee bounced slightly, and Elara broke the silence.
“Your hands are strong, Papa.”
He chuckled a wet sound, running a hand through his hair. The sides touched his ears and she knew how he hated it long.
When was the last time he cut it? She hoped he was taking care of himself. The sallow tint to his cheeks and his slender waist made her worry.
“They are,” he mused, tossing the whittled wood aside. “But so are yours, I hear. They told me what happened. As best they could. I still don’t understand it.”
A rough hand covered hers and a sigh fell from her. Something distant and pained pricked in his gaze. He shook it away before she could place it.
“Njáll sent men for me. To bring me to you. And when we arrived, their village was a pile of smoke and ash and you were bedridden with fever. I have never seen someone as devoted as the man who stood vigil over your bedside, Elara. There is something beautiful and terrifying about its intensity.”
Elara’s father reached out, tracing the tiny scar under her eye. Sucking on her lip, she struggled to put into words what she and Njáll had.
How did she even begin to explain Freyja, seier, and the draugar?
Warmth bloomed low in her belly. Elara palmed her navel, deciding simpler was probably better. Her eyes drifted to the cold furs beside her, imagining Njáll’s broad, comforting figure nestled in close.
“I love him, Papa.”
The simple vow hung in the air, thickening with each passing moment. Her father’s throat worked, and a long, shuddering sigh rolled off his tongue. He sat next to her, still holding her hand.
“I see. You intend to stay here with him?”
“Yes. He is my forever,” Elara said with a sincere finality.
“After everything he has done, he does appear worthy of you.” Lips pecked her forehead and her father pulled back to meet her gaze.
“I suppose I should get settled then. The Konungr offered me a home by the river, should I choose to stay with you. Your Jarl also offered more gold than I could ever need.”
A broad smile touched her eyes, Elara laughing as she wrapped her arms around her father’s neck. She pulled him close and he grunted, gently returning her hug.
When she looked up, a massive shadow filled the doorway.
Thick forearms crossed over his chest. Njáll stood there, tall and imposing. He took one tentative step forward, the firelight highlighting the dark smudges under his eyes and the pronounced lines around his mouth.
His haggard appearance told the story of a warrior who had carried an immense burden for the last moon. Ash coated her mouth as her arms dropped from her father’s neck, all her attention now focused on Njáll.
Bloodshot eyes stared at her, the silver fire missing from them.
Instead, a hollow, exhausted shell blinked beneath the two-toned irises. A clean tunic stretched across his muscled chest, his hair clean and freshly braided.
Even so, a cloud hovered over him like a dark shroud, devouring all the things she loved about him.
“Njáll,” her father murmured, rising from the bed. “I will leave you two.”
“Bóndi,” Njáll said, bowing his head.
A tight smile pinched her father’s cheeks as he slipped out, leaving them alone.
No words fell from Njáll. He crossed the room in two strides, falling to his knees beside the bed. His large, scarred hands reached for her. Callused fingers burrowed into the hair at her nape, his grip borderline bruising as he examined her in silence.
“Little flame,” he finally choked out, his voice harsh. “I thought… I thought you were gone. That you wouldn’t find your way back. You are here.”
The coarse hair of his beard bounced under her fingertips. A soft groan rumbled in his chest as she scraped a trail along his jaw, a tired smile dimpling the creases around her eyes.
“I’m here. And so are you,” she whispered, dusting her lips over his cheek.
“Why?” he rasped, his eyes so full of hurt.
“How could you ask that of me, Elara? I watched the light leave your eyes. I watched your eyes close for what I believed was the last time. Why did you stop me from following you? You had no right to command me to stay! Not when you were going to leave me!”
So much pain seeped from him, the harsh cut of it lacing his words.
Elara remembered wiping tears from his red-rimmed eyes as death came for her. She couldn’t fault him for his anger.
If their roles had been reversed, she would have slapped him by now for daring to stop her from being with him.
“I know, my love,” she whispered, pulling his head down until his ear rested on her chest. “I know I was selfish. But I needed you to live, Njáll.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding the weary, gorgeous demon who loved her enough to bring her back from the brink.
“What matters now is that we are here together. You can be angry with me in the morning, Jarl. For now, please hold me.”
“You know I cannot deny you,” he murmured into her navel.
“I know.”
He needed no further command.
With a low groan, Njáll stripped his tunic and climbed under the furs, pulling her close, sheltering her with the weight of his body.
“Until the end of the world, little flame,” he whispered, nuzzling into her throat.