Chapter 22 #2
"Callum’s coin," he muttered. "He’s been paying fer this. Two weeks before the fire, the harbor attack was already planned. It wasnae just the fire, he needed the confusion, the distraction. The smoke, the chaos… it was always about the moment of separation."
Ivar's jaw clenched at the mention of the separation. His mind immediately began running through the possibilities, how it was a vulnerable point. It had been the first real threat they’d faced. The fire, just a cover.
"And the men who entered as traders?" Ivar asked, cutting to the heart of it. "The ones in the harbor?"
The mercenary's good eye flicked over to Torvald, then back to Ivar. His voice dropped lower, as if the memory made him uneasy.
"The fire was cover," he repeated, the words coming more slowly now. "The smoke, the chaos… that was always the diversion. They knew exactly where to go. The moment of separation. The plan was tae split everyone up, make sure some got lost, make sure the trail went cold. They’d already set up the camp. There’s one near the western path…
the camp off the coastline. Ye already knew that, aye? "
Ivar’s eyes flickered to Torvald, who nodded silently, confirming that they’d already located it. But the mercenary wasn’t finished.
"There’s another spot further north," the man said, his voice rasping with a mix of fatigue and defiance. "I dinnae think ye’ve got that on yer maps yet. It’s a smaller camp. Callum’s been sending men back and forth."
Ivar paused. His fingers twitched ever so slightly as he registered the new information. A second camp? That was new.
"Where?" Ivar asked sharply, not wasting time.
The mercenary hesitated for a moment, his eye darting toward the ground as though he was weighing how much to give away. Finally, he spoke.
"North of the old mill. Along the trail that leads into the cliffs." He paused, then added, "Ye’ll need to move fast. Callum’s men are set tae relocate soon."
Ivar absorbed the information without comment, his mind calculating the implications. The mercenary, on the other hand, had fallen silent, his jaw set tight in defiance. He wasn't going to offer any more unless pressed.
Ivar leaned in slightly, his eyes hard.
"What’s yer plan, mercenary? Ye going tae make this easy or hard on yerself?"
The man met his gaze, but there was a coldness in his eye. Then, finally, the stubborn words came. "He’ll nae stop."
Ivar straightened, his gaze cold. The words hung in the air, thick with their meaning.
"Callum. He’ll nae stop," the mercenary rasped, his voice suddenly firm. "He wants the woman. And he’ll have her, before he’s done with this. I’ll nae die before I see that done."
The room froze. Ivar’s expression didn’t change, but his body went still, too still, like a storm on the horizon.
For a moment, nothing moved. Ivar’s jaw tightened, and his fingers curled into fists. He glanced at Torvald, who had lowered his head, avoiding the mercenary’s glare.
The mercenary’s words were clear, this was more than just a threat. It was a promise.
"Aye," Ivar said softly, his voice a low growl. "Ye will."
He didn’t hesitate. The decision was made in an instant, cold and practical, the only choice that made sense. Without ceremony, steel flashed in the dim light of the room. The mercenary’s final chapter was closed with a swift, clean motion.
Ivar stood, his gaze briefly lingering on the body, before he turned and headed for the door. Torvald followed, his footsteps muffled on the cold stone. He had the expression he always had at these moments. The one that said he understood and agreed and would carry his half of the weight.
Ivar had already made the decision before the sentence finished.
He understood, in a cold and practical way, that there was no version of keeping this man alive that ended well for Matilda.
Not because of what he knew, which Ivar now knew, but because of what he was, a man loyal to the wrong person and willing to say so plainly.
Then, Ivar sensed a shift.
Ivar registered her presence in the doorway at the same time she seemed to register him. She was standing there, one hand on the doorframe, her eyes moving between him and the room as if weighing something heavy.
Her expression wasn’t the composed stillness he was used to seeing; this was different. It was the stillness of someone caught off guard, trying to figure out what to do with the surprise that had just been dropped on them.
He said nothing, simply holding her gaze, letting the silence stretch as her eyes moved from him to the floor and back. He waited for her to process, knowing she would. Torvald nodded towards her in acknowledgement and went ahead.
Finally, she stepped back through the door, her movements deliberate, as if deciding what she needed to say.
Ivar followed her into the corridor, where she had stopped a few feet out, leaning against the stone wall.
"Matilda," he said, his voice lower than he intended, but she didn’t look at him right away.
"Dinnae apologize," she said, her voice soft but firm, like she already knew what he might say.
"I wasnae going tae."
She turned her head to meet his gaze, her eyes searching his, as if weighing his words before she spoke.
"I dinnae like it," she said, her voice steady, but there was an edge to it. "What I saw."
"I ken."
Her gaze held his, unflinching. She didn’t soften her words, didn’t pretend it was okay. And for some reason, that felt like the most honest thing she could have said.
"I need ye tae ken that first," she continued. "I dinnae like it, and I’m nae going tae pretend I dae."
"Aye."
The silence between them stretched again, the sound of life continuing beyond them in the keep, distant and indifferent to the moment they were in. Ivar let her words settle, knowing she had more to say.
"He said Callum wouldnae stop," she said, and though it wasn’t a question, he answered anyway.
"He said that."
She studied him for a long moment, and Ivar could feel the weight of her gaze, like she was reading him, running through every possible conclusion in her head.
"And ye believe him?" Her voice was quieter now, searching.
"Aye."
She took a slow breath, her eyes never leaving his. Then she said, in that direct, unwavering tone he knew so well, "Then I’m glad ye dinnae hesitate."
Ivar’s jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t look away. He let the words sink in, and though part of him was uneasy, he understood what she meant.
"I am," she repeated, her voice steady, but the weight of it hit him harder this time. "Even if I dinnae like what I saw… I feel safer, kenning that ye willnae hesitate when it matters."
There was a pause. She shifted her hands against each other, almost as if trying to steady herself.
"That’s an uncomfortable thing tae be glad of," she added softly, her voice quiet.”
"Aye," he said, his voice low. "It is."
The corridor was silent except for the sound of their breathing. Ivar could feel her words settling between them, raw and honest.
He reached for her hand, and she let him. Her fingers closed around his, and they stood there for a moment, neither of them moving. It was as if the world outside the corridor had fallen away, leaving just the two of them in the quiet space they shared.
Finally, Ivar tilted his head toward the stairs, and she gave him a small nod. They walked back up together, their hands still clasped, neither of them letting go until they had to.