Chapter 59
Kalfr and Gaelfr both blinked at Raye, while her quiet command echoed between them. Tell me the truth. The rest of it. Now.
“I deserve to know,” she told them, as steady as she could. “I deserve to know what really happened between you two. And why” — she drew in breath — “why you’ve never been able to trust each other. Why you still can’t trust each other.”
If she’d nursed the smallest sliver of doubt, it would have been crushed by that swift, telling glance between Kalfr and Gaelfr.
The way their eyes held, spoke, understood, and yanked apart again.
The same damned pattern as all the rest of it had been, all this time, and Raye gritted her teeth, folded her arms across her chest.
“I know you told me some of it,” she continued, nodding toward where Kalfr was still standing beside the bed.
“The other night, when you said you’d been afraid of losing us both, and you feared we might choose each other, over you.
But” — her voice hardened — “why would you think that? Why would you think Gaelfr would do that to you?”
Raye didn’t miss the distinct flare of pain in Gaelfr’s eyes, or the way Kalfr darted another narrow look toward him.
“Gaelfr’s your ástvinur,” Raye continued, with a wave toward his bulky body still sitting on the bed.
“He’s sworn vows to you. He’s clearly devoted to you.
And whether or not he swore the proper vows to me, it’s clear he fully expected to share a mate with you someday. He wanted that, with you.”
Neither of them denied it, and Raye frowned between them, took another breath. “So why didn’t you at least try? What happened between you? What did Gaelfr do, to lose your trust that much?”
Kalfr’s eyes briefly closed, and Gaelfr betrayed a visceral flinch.
Suggesting that yes, Raye was on the right scent with this, and she even felt her nostrils flaring as she drew up fragments and memories, all their hints, all they’d left unsaid.
“Did Gaelfr try to control you, somehow?” she asked, quieter, searching Kalfr’s face. “Or even… entrap you?”
They were both accusations Kalfr himself had made several times, one of them only moments ago — and yes, that was another twitch from Gaelfr, a twist on his mouth. While Kalfr jerked a shrug, and gave Raye a wan, wretched little smile.
“Entrap is taking this too far, mayhap,” he said, with a lightness that didn’t match his eyes. “Gael only did what he always does, when he thinks you need his help.”
Raye considered that for an instant, her eyes darting back and forth between them. “So what did he do, then?” she asked, too sharp. “Tell me, Kalfr.”
Kalfr shot another look toward the bed, where Gaelfr was now staring at the floor, his hands folded, his big shoulders slumped.
And as if by instinct, Kalfr’s hand reached toward him, but then yanked back, clenched to a tight fist instead.
And Raye could see the effort in Kalfr’s smile now, could taste the bitterness of his pain in the air.
“Gael swore a lifelong vow to be my ástvinur,” he said simply. “Without even once asking if I wished for this.”
Oh. Ohhhhh. Raye stared at them for another hanging instant, while all the messy threads began twining together behind her eyes.
Goddess, of course it went that far back.
And of course Gaelfr had done something like that, barging in without asking, deciding that Kalfr would be his ástvinur, forever.
And though Raye should have been instantly aghast, enraged on Kalfr’s behalf, her eyes snapped back to Gaelfr, to his bowed head, his tightly folded hands.
He wasn’t denying this. He was fully accepting whatever guilt and judgement was rightfully his.
And he was still here, still stubbornly beside Kalfr, even with this darkness forever hanging between them.
“Why did you do it, then?” Raye asked, and she stepped closer, so she could reach for Gaelfr’s bowed head, tilt up his face toward her. “What would have happened, if you hadn’t?”
Gaelfr’s eyes were unnaturally bright, too wide on Raye’s face — and he jerked his arm up, rubbed roughly against his eyes.
But Raye kept waiting, caressing his cheek, until he dropped his arm, and met her gaze.
Looking weary, empty, defeated, but maybe with a glimmer of gratefulness, too.
As if it meant something to him, that Raye hadn’t immediately judged him. That she was — trusting him.
“I only did it,” he began, hoarse, “because Kalfr needed this. Because he was not safe.”
Not safe. Raye nodded, because that had already been far too clear, and she kept caressing Gaelfr’s face, wiping away a streak of wetness that escaped his eye. “And why wasn’t Kalfr safe?” she asked. “Because of the war? Or something else?”
Gaelfr’s shoulders heaved, and he shot a sideways look toward where Kalfr’s eyes were carefully distant now, fixed on something beyond Raye’s shoulder.
“Because of — our clan,” Gaelfr replied, his voice thick.
“Because the most powerful warriors amongst us — the ones who led and won our battles, and kept all our kin safe from death — they could take whatever they wished. Kalfr has told you how they treated our drummers and dancers, ach? But…”
His shoulders heaved again, his eyes darting toward Kalfr, while a low, sickening dread began curdling in Raye’s belly. He couldn’t mean — he couldn’t, or —
“But what?” Raye asked, almost a whisper. “Tell me, Gael.”
Gaelfr’s eyes squeezed shut again, his breath punching out from his chest. “But our clan’s sons were not spared from this, either,” he rasped. “Most of all when they were sweet and lithe and beautiful. When they had no one to guard them, and keep them safe.”
The horror flashed and churned in Raye’s belly, the bile rising into her throat, and her hand clapped over her mouth, her head shaking. No. No. He meant — he meant — Kalfr. He meant Kalfr had been sweet and lithe and beautiful. And therefore — Kalfr had been —
“But — what about — Kalfr’s father?!” Raye demanded, shooting a chagrined, pleading look toward Kalfr’s blank face. “Wouldn’t his father have guarded him? Helped him?”
But there was only silence from Kalfr and Gaelfr both, thicker and heavier with every breath, until finally Gaelfr let out a harsh exhale.
“Kalfr’s father was a fierce, clever warrior, at the front of many battles,” he replied slowly.
“But with this oft came… wounds. Wounds that could not be seen. And if he knew his son was targeted thus, he did not… understand it. Not enough to move against this, or keep his son safe.”
Oh, goddess. And how unspeakably awful for Kalfr, to have a father who had allowed him to be harmed, who might as well have not been there at all. “And there was no one else who could help?” Raye asked, her voice cracking. “No one else who stood against this?”
Gaelfr’s mouth twisted, and he jerked a shrug. “Our captains did not well bear dissent,” he said. “Any orcs who sought this were oft cast out, or killed — and sometimes their kin, also. Most orcs soon learnt to cover their eyes and their noses, and to choose which battles were worth fighting.”
The horror was still crunching in Raye’s gut, her head still shaking, and something had begun rattling distant but powerful at the back of her thoughts. Kalfr hadn’t been safe. Their sons hadn’t been safe…
“But,” Gaelfr added, on a deep inhale, “even the cruelest amongst us yet carried fear of the goddess, and of the vows spoken before her. The bonds of ástvinir are mayhap the oldest of these, and yet carried great weight amongst us. An ástvinur has the right to guard his bond-brother, to avenge him, to always move and fight and sleep by his side. And thus, the right, also” — he gave another jerky shrug — “to share his bed, and demand his fealty in this.”
Oh. Of course. So Gaelfr had known Kalfr was in danger, and he’d sought to protect him, in the strongest way he could. By swearing this unbreakable lifelong vow to him, and therefore binding Kalfr to him, instead. And… to his bed, too.
The bile again surged in Raye’s throat, and her eyes snapped to Kalfr, to his still-blank face. “So you mean — you didn’t actually want that, from Gaelfr?” she demanded. “You didn’t have a choice? You were forced to trade your — your attackers — for him?!”
Her hand flailed toward Gaelfr, while her voice rang through the room, too loud and panicked. Because if that was really what had happened, if Gaelfr had essentially forced himself onto Kalfr, forever —
But Kalfr’s eyes snapped into focus again, wide and disbelieving on Raye’s face — and he rapidly shook his head, even as he stalked away from the bed, his hands dragging against his hair.
“No,” he said, curt and flat, without looking at them.
“Gael did not — force me. We were friends, best friends, and of course I wished for him, over this. I did not argue his vow, and swore the vow to him in return. It is only…”
Raye waited, her heart pounding, her eyes frozen on his stiff back. And she could feel Gaelfr’s attention on him too, could almost scent his dread and regret in the too-thick air.
“It is only,” Kalfr continued, his voice hitching, “that thus I could never — know, ach? I could never know who or what Gael might have chosen, without this. And he could never know what I might have chosen, either. And thus…”
He gave a tired wave of his hand, encompassing Gaelfr, Raye, himself.
And suddenly there was only sadness, plunging heavy in Raye’s belly, because — of course.
This was why they’d never trusted each other.
Not now, and not back then, either. They’d both been pushed into this lifelong relationship with each other, and they’d never really known if it was true.
Gaelfr’s head bowed again, his clawed hands gripping tightly on his knees, and Raye could still taste his guilt, his grief, sick and rancid in the air.
Suggesting that — none of this was a surprise to him, was it?
He knew Kalfr had never trusted him, after that.
He knew he needed to prove his worth to Kalfr, pay his penance, earn his love…
We shall gain Kalfr’s trust again. We shall address this, and help him, and heal him. I shall stay, but only so long as you keep the vow. We shall do all within our power…
That distant awareness was again scraping at Raye’s thoughts, clawing itself closer, and when she looked back at Kalfr again, her breaths felt ragged, her heartbeat skipping in her chest. And she fought for the vision of the goddess, the clarity and insight she’d felt on those altars, the shine of the silvery light, the blessing…
“So that’s why you didn’t tell Gaelfr about me, back when we first met,” she said slowly.
“That’s why you threatened to break your bond with him, for me.
That’s why you didn’t send for him, once he left and went across the sea.
And maybe” — her voice cracked — “maybe that’s even why you agreed to do that mission with Sybil, too. ”
Kalfr cast a confused look toward her, and from the bed, Gaelfr’s head lifted up too, his eyes glassy, his brow furrowed. But Raye had something here, something important, and she forced her way down into that ever-present darkness, clutching at it, dragging it up toward the light…
“Because you’ve been testing Gaelfr, all this time,” she whispered, slow but certain. “You’ve been making him prove himself to you. Haven’t you?”
Kalfr blinked at her, the surprise flaring brighter across his eyes — and he slowly shook his head. Denying it, hiding it, pretending that he would never do such a thing…
But it only swept Raye’s certainty higher. She was doing this. She was proving this. Not for Kalfr, not for Gaelfr, not even for Svein, but — for herself. She wanted to… trust herself. Trust her own instincts, her own observations. Her own truth.
“You’ve been testing him, Kalfr,” she said, the certainty thudding through her voice. “You’ve been punishing him, and making him pay. Making him fight for you, and prove his vows to you.”
Kalfr’s head was still shaking, his body rigid, rebelling, refusing — but Raye stood firm. Stood in her trust, her truth, her light.
“I know, Kalfr,” she said, and she even smiled at him, sad and bitter and broken. “Because it’s exactly what you’ve done to me.”